


Evil Women

by drunkbedelia



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, They are dumb, This isn’t really anything, but I couldn’t help myself, dumb gay witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkbedelia/pseuds/drunkbedelia
Summary: Mary and Zelda’s affair began as a casual fling, but now both are dangerously close to catching feelings for each other. Will either witch ever admit to girlfriend status? Or will they blow it up before it gets that far?





	1. Chapter 1

Zelda awoke drearily from sleep and reached instinctively for the warm body of the woman beside her. She was disappointed when her touch found Mary Wardwell sitting upright, fully dressed.

‘Come back to bed. It’s warm.’ Zelda’s words tumbled out as one breath, a murmur into her pillow more than an intelligible phrase. Luckily, Mary had heard Zelda’s sleepy utterances enough times to understand what the witch meant without subtitles.

‘I have to get to school,’ Mary said, slipping into dangerously heeled black pumps in one effortless motion. ‘I’m late, actually.’ She did not try to hide the resentment in her voice; she had not meant to let Zelda stay last night, nor the night before. What had began as Zelda’s weekly late night phone call to discuss the girl Sabrina and her various misdeeds had turned into fairly regular house visits, Zelda calling on Mary more and more as her niece wreaked havoc on the coven. Mary had seen right through Zelda’s feeble excuses and taken pity on the woman’s clear need for companionship. The talk was soon replaced by sex, the visits extended into overnight stays. Mary would not usually concern herself with the change in her relationship to someone like Zelda; she often chose to indulge in the pleasure of the flesh, and, admittedly, Zelda’s flesh had tempted her from the first drag of that perpetually lit cigarette. Such dalliances were nothing to the mother of demons. A way to kill time; to take advantage of the extraordinary gifts of Mary Wardwell’s human form. A fling with Zelda was a harmless distraction. Lately, however, she had become a bit too distracting.

A warmth on the back of Mary’s neck interrupted her thoughts. She let Zelda’s hand graze her skin, her fingertips sending shivers down her spine. ‘I can’t convince you to stay?’ Zelda’s low words jolted through Mary’s body but she knew she could not give in to these mortal desires, this want that coursed through her veins. She is amazed at the weakness of the human form; so easily affected by as little as a single touch, a warm whisper. Deciding to ignore these base needs is easy for a superior form like herself – at least, it should be.

Mary stood abruptly, letting Zelda’s hand fall to the mattress. ‘You know where the keys are.’ She turned to meet Zelda’s eyes only for a moment, skimming over the hurt she found there like water over a stone. ‘Lock up, will you?’

Mary left the room with a swish of her mane, determined not to waste any more time thinking about the half-naked witch still lying in her bed.

———

Zelda couldn’t be certain, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Mary Wardwell liked her. They had been sleeping together for nearly three months now, and Mary had made it clear that her intentions were purely physical from the start. As subtle as a baseball bat, as was Mary’s way, her advances were initially cloaked in a poor excuse to discuss Sabrina’s increasingly reckless behavior and delivered in that maddening teacher-ly voice. But Mary’s nearly comical flirtations – batting her eyelids, flicking her hair, biweekly invitations to see her in person – had escalated to the point that Zelda could no longer ignore the other woman’s objective. Finally, on the fourth request in one week for Zelda to stop by Mary’s for a ‘quick catch-up’ on the ‘Sabrina situation’, Zelda decided to end the charade and give in to Mary’s womanly wiles. For even if some of her lines seemed ripped from a 1950s pulp novel, Mary was utterly enticing in her own puzzling way.

The sex was fantastic, and Zelda was glad to have somewhere, someone to escape to who was not so tied up in the Spellman family dramas. Even Faustus, who had at first provided a similar relief, had become so coiled with anxiety at his wife’s pregnancy that his company now provided little comfort to Zelda. Mary had her own secrets, certainly; a witch does not live to be their age without a walk-in closet full of skeletons. But Zelda saw no reason to involve herself with Mary’s private affairs; not when their relationship was purely physical. A ‘hook-up,’ or ‘friends with benefits,’ or even a ‘booty call’ were all terms she had heard Ambrose throw out over the decades, and she relished the fact that such charming colloquialisms could now be applied to her once drab love life.

That is, until last week. Zelda had fallen into the habit of spending at least three evenings a week in Mary’s house, often staying the night more due to laziness and fatigue than a real desire to stay at the woman’s side. On Saturday morning, Zelda had woken in Mary’s bed to find it empty. This was not so unusual, except that lately the two had made a routine of kissing each other goodbye before parting their separate ways. Zelda pushed away the twinge of irritation at being abandoned without so much as a wave. It was Mary’s prerogative to leave whenever she wanted. It was her house, after all. They both had things to do, places to be...

Zelda’s thoughts were interrupted by the overpowering smell of something burning. She quickly wrapped herself in a robe and rushed downstairs to the kitchen, certain she would find the smoldering remains of a forgotten oven or a spell gone awry.

Instead, she found Mary, frantically fanning a smoking pile of ash with her billowing dressing gown sleeves. As Zelda approached, she heard Mary cursing under her breath with vocabulary that would make Satan himself go rosy at the cheeks. So absorbed in her task of dissipating the fumes, she did not notice Zelda until she was right beside her.

‘Zelda! Don’t sneak up on me like that!’ Mary’s frustration was painted across her face, a stark contrast to her usually measured features.

‘Sorry,’ Zelda said, unable to stop the smile creeping up her lips. ‘I didn’t want to distract from your new hobby. I hear arson is great to relieve stress.’

Mary shot Zelda an icy stare and crossed her arms. ‘I was trying to make breakfast.’

Zelda leaned in closer to inspect the plate of rubble, the smoke now vanished to reveal thick blackened layers of crust. ‘Is it... Crackers?’

‘They’re pancakes!’ Mary yelled, exasperated. ‘It’s not my fault, I never cook – this kind of food. Vegetarian.’

‘I don’t know that pancakes are classically vegetarian cuisine,’ Zelda said, amused. ‘But what on earth are you doing cooking?’ Zelda tried to recall Mary ever cooking anything during their times together, but couldn’t remember her even eating anything at all. Present company excluded.

‘I don’t know,’ Mary said with a sigh. ‘I felt domestic this morning.’

Startled, Zelda said nothing but watched as Mary sent the ruined pancakes to the bin with a quick flick of her wrist. The comment hung in the air like an enormous bubble waiting to burst. Suddenly, Zelda was overcome with a certainty that she did not want to be the one to pop it.

‘I’ll just have coffee, if you have it.’

A flicker of something crossed Mary’s face, but was soon replaced with her stock half-smile. She stuck out her hip in her exaggerated way, letting the silky robe drape pleasantly over her curves. ‘Can you believe it. All I have is tea.’

Zelda assured her that tea was fine, and the two finished their morning in companionable silence. Zelda was sure the edge in the air was only imagined, a trick of the early winter chill.

But two days later, Zelda spent the night at Mary’s again, and the next morning awoke to the unmistakable smell of very strong coffee. Downstairs, she found the source: a shiny silver cafetiere and a giant bag of coffee beans, marked with the familiar logo of the trendy cafe in town.

Zelda poured herself a cup of the steaming liquid and let the warmth spread through her. She wandered from the kitchen to the dining room, where Mary was seated at the table, nursing a mug of tea and absorbed in a newspaper. She did not look up as Zelda sat down, but handed her that day’s issue of the Moscow Times.

Zelda was certain if she asked Mary about the sudden appearance of a cafetiere and international newspapers, she would insist that Zelda was imagining things. These were not changes in Mary’s routine, and if they were, they were not for Zelda’s benefit. To attribute causation to coincidence would be absurd.

And perhaps she would be telling the truth, for why should Mary Wardwell care about what Zelda wanted, needed, or liked at all?

So Zelda did not ask, but sipped her coffee in silence, grateful and anxious and utterly overwhelmed by the glorious witch who sat before her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Mary bought Zelda’s coffee

Mary luxuriated in a long sip of her earl grey tea, letting the steam warm her face and neck. She made a conscious effort to feel the cup in her hand, the way the ceramic curved into her palm, connecting it to Mary, Mary to her. She smacked her lips, careful to keep her crimson outline just so, and considered the peculiar effect of this human body on its host.

Lilith was used to the human forms she inhabited hanging on to some pathetic echo of their previous selves, always easily ignored and quickly squelched; more a nuisance than anything else. In the past she had experienced minor changes in her cognizance – a sudden craving for smoked herring, or an enthusiastic appreciation of synthetic pop music (the latter not enjoyed one bit). The vestigial remains of the deceased mortal’s life, however incongruous with Lilith’s own, always vanished within a few days.

Mary was different. Her very human likes and dislikes had found their way into Lilith’s consciousness and stuck, to the point that Lilith was now forced to accept them as her own. Luckily the influence of Mary Wardwell remained confined to inconsequential matters like enjoying certain horror films and preferring red wine over white. She shuddered to think what would happen if the human had any say in Lilith’s thoughts and feelings on the things that mattered – but no, Lilith would never let that happen. She was quite comfortable in Mary’s skin. She stretched her arms over her head, admiring the way the flesh of her hands drew taught in some places and wrinkled in others, transforming with even a slight movement of a finger. Her nitid red fingernails glittered in the light, dancing at her whim. This was her own skin, now.

One thing this body had made very clear from the beginning was an abhorrence of coffee, so Mary wasn’t quite sure why she found herself staring at the menu of the trendy new cafe later that day. She had wandered in without thinking, and was almost instantly filled with regret as she took in the manufactured ambiance.

Tacky, oversized posters shouted the establishment’s zeal for providing excellent coffee while neon lights bathed everyone in an unflattering blue glow. Music that resembled metal bins being smashed together played at much too loud a volume, forcing the customers in line to yell their orders to the bar staff. Mary glared at the motley collection of mortals packed in like sardines, hunched over books and ridiculously small espresso cups. Just like that terrible coffee, sweaty and hot and odorous – though, Mary considered, the smell was not so horrendous. Actually, it was a bit familiar, that scent: bitter, cut with citrus. Her shoulders released their tension as she breathed it in, letting it provide an unnamed comfort as the rest of her surroundings slipped away...

‘Ms. Wardwell? What are you doing here?’

The familiar chirp of the teenage half-witch brought Mary back with a start. She was exhausted enough having to poke and prod Sabrina in the right direction during class time, let alone in her few spare hours off. Still, the image must be maintained, and she greeted the girl with a restrained smile.

‘Sabrina. Just seeing what they have to offer.’ She gestured at the complicated menu with a flick of her wrist, unable to suppress a frown at the ridiculous names of the drinks written there. ‘I might go for a... Mermaid berry cooler.’

Sabrina laughed. ‘It’s a pretty ridiculous place. They have really good coffee though.’

‘I see. I’m not one for coffee, I’m afraid.’ Mary hastily stepped out of the line, hoping to make a swift exit.

‘Me neither,’ Sabrina said, following her. ‘But my aunt loves it. I have to keep coming back to get her more of their coffee beans.’

Mary paused. ‘Your aunt?’

‘My aunt Z. She says it’s about time this town got a decent coffee shop. She wouldn’t be caught dead in here, though.’

The mention of Zelda spurred a flutter in Mary’s chest that threatened to compromise her carefully constructed mask of cool detachment. She cleared her throat to hide any slip in composure. ‘Well, of course. Your aunt has excellent taste.’

‘I’ve always thought so,’ Sabrina nodded, and was Mary imagining a glint of some superior knowledge in that smile? Surely.

‘I’ve got to get back. Homework,’ Sabrina said, lifting her book bag with a shrug. ‘See you tomorrow, Ms. Wardwell.’

‘Goodbye, Sabrina.’

At the door, Sabrina paused. ‘The dark roast is her favorite.’ Before Mary could ask why she would think to provide such a detail, she was gone.

At home, Mary eyed her wares with disquiet: a large bag of dark roast, and a silver cafetiere from the expensive department store down the road. Foolish purchases. Bought in a flustered daze, and for what? In the store, she had told herself she wanted to expand her palette in an attempt to change this body’s staunch adversity to the beverage. But now that the coffee was here in front of her, she wasn’t entirely sure that was the reason she bought them at all.

Before she went to bed that night she opened the bag and took in a deep whiff of the coffee grounds. The acrid smell traveled to every particle of her being, filling her with what could only be described as unmitigated happiness.

How strange, she thought as she drifted into a contented sleep, that Mary Wardwell would hate the taste of coffee, but adore the smell so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback!! Had to extend chapters cause we need a bit more ~drama right?? TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary is sick, but luckily Zelda is well-versed in treating the common cold.

Mary was sick. Not victim to some ancient, sanguinary curse; that would at least be a respectable affliction. But no, the Mother of Demons was stuck in bed with the common cold.

She had called the high school that morning when neither bat blood nor spider venom had relieved her chesty cough and watering eyes. Granted a sick day, she looked forward to downing a bottle of mortal medicine and fighting the illness with an aggressive dose of sleep.

Hours of fitful half-consciousness later, Mary was awoken by a far-off thud. Convinced it was a was a dream, she groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers, sliding into sleep once again.

When Mary next woke, she wasn’t sure what day it was or how long she’d been unconscious. The bedroom was pitch black save for a dim light in the far corner that she couldn’t remember turning on. A faint smell of sweetness wafted to her nose and made her sit up in bed, an action immediately proved foolhardy by the acute pain that flooded her forehead.

‘Don’t be silly, lie down.’

Zelda’s voice from the shadows made Mary jump, again compounding her headache. ‘Zelda? What are you doing here?’

Zelda emerged from the corner with a large mug of steaming liquid, apparently the source of the fragrant smell.

‘I heard you were sick.’ Zelda sat down on other side of the bed, cradling the mug in her hands. Her ginger hair caught the light from behind, creating an eerie angelic glow around her face.

Mary groaned and dug deeper into the bed, covering her face with her hands. Her brain was lagging behind, unable to form the words she needed to send Zelda away. ‘No, no, no,’ was all she managed.

Zelda tutted and pulled the covers away from Mary’s face. ‘Hiding away won’t make you feel better, and neither will feeling sorry for yourself. Now drink this.’

Mary glared at Zelda from behind her fingers, keeping her hands in front of her face. ‘I’m in no state to be seen. Go home before it’s too late.’

Zelda rolled her eyes. ‘Shockingly enough, I’ve seen worse things in this world than you without makeup on. Now stop being ridiculous.’

Mary slowly lowered her hands, praying to Satan that the dim light would keep Zelda from noticing how unseemly she looked after a day with no bathing or grooming to speak of. She took the mug and stared at the swirling steam, not wanting to meet Zelda’s eyes and see the revulsion that was sure to be there. After a moment, unable to take it anymore, Mary looked up.

But Zelda’s face showed no horror or surprise. Only the same stern determination.

‘That’s better. Now drink up.’ She nodded at the mug in Mary’s hands.

Mary eyed the liquid suspiciously. ‘Is it some sort of potion?’

‘A mortal potion. Lemon and honey.’

Mary raised an eyebrow. But before she could protest, Zelda added, ‘Sabrina’s had the same illness many times in her childhood. This will make you feel better, trust me. Drink it.’

Mary sighed and did as she was told. Amazingly, her throat did relax almost immediately, the fog lifted from her mind.

‘How did you get in?’ Mary asked.

‘I still have your keys. From the other day.’

‘I see.’ Mary winced at the memory, how she had so coldly left Zelda alone in the house without a second glance. She felt she should apologize, but also knew that to do so would be admitting to something greater. And she was not ready for that, not yet.

Zelda was busying herself with another concoction, this one bright green and syrupy. She ladled out a generous spoonful and pointed it at Mary’s mouth.

Mary jerked her head away. ‘I think I’ve had enough mortal potion for one day.’

But Zelda persisted. ‘It’s cold medicine. Works wonders.’

‘I already took mortal medicine, this morning. It didn’t help.’

‘I saw the bottle on your dresser. That was Pepto Bismal. Wrong kind of medicine.’

Mary threw up her hands in frustration. ‘Mortals have too much choice! How am I to distinguish between the different afflictions of a human body when I can barely think straight–’

‘Yes, yes, I know, your life is very hard. Now take the NyQuil.’

Mary scowled but swallowed the spoonful of medicine. ‘Eugh!’ She sputtered, scraping her tongue with her teeth. ‘That is awful!’

Zelda raised her eyebrow and smiled with irritating smugness, like she had dealt with similar tantrums of the sick many times before and knew they were not worth addressing.

‘You might start to feel woozy, but when you wake up you’ll be nearly cured.’

She leaned forward and kissed Mary’s forehead, smoothing away loose strands of hair with her fingers. Mary flinched at her touch. ‘I’m all sweaty.’

Zelda shook her head. ‘You are beautiful.’ She grasped Mary’s hand with hers, squeezing it tightly. ‘And ridiculous.’

Mary felt her face flush and let her head fall back on the pillow, already subject to the effects of the medicine. ‘I don’t want you to catch it.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You might. That’s how I got it in the first place, those dirty, diseased children coughing all over me,’ Mary said, shutting her eyes.

‘Yes but...’

‘What?’ Mary mumbled.

‘This is a mortal illness.’

Mary’s eyes flew open, heart suddenly racing. ‘I don’t–‘

‘–It’s okay,’ Zelda said over her panic, her soft words soothing her back to the precipice of sleep. ‘It’s alright,’ she said again. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

And then Mary knew she was delirious from cold medicine, because all she wanted to do was tell Zelda everything. That she was not a normal witch, but a demon, ancient and all-powerful and reduced to a dizzy mess by a weak mortal body that was probably the only reason Zelda even liked her in the first place...

A black wall of tiredness hit her like a tsunami, and Mary fell into sleep once again. In the night she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or awake but every time she checked, Zelda was still at her side, holding her hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda and Mary run into each other at the school carnival.

Zelda took a long drag of her cigarette and searched for something positive about the mess of children and noise pulsing before her. The cold fall air had an extra nip about it, which was nice, and Zelda had brought a backup case of cigarettes, which was comforting. But these minor conveniences did little to quiet the surge of anxiety that had gripped Zelda from her first glimpse of the high school carnival.

‘Auntie Z! You ready?’ Sabrina appeared at her side, all smiles and innocent, trusting eyes. Oh, to be young again. 

‘If we must,’ Zelda said, following her niece as she made her way towards the fairground with significantly more pep in her step than her aunt. Zelda reached instinctively for her cigarette case.

‘Auntie, you can’t smoke in here,’ Sabrina said, pausing before the entrance.

‘This is why people hate high schools,’ Zelda muttered, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it into the soil with her heel. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’

‘I told you, I don’t need a chaperone,’ Sabrina said, that bite of annoyance in her words that had become all too common in recent months. ‘All my friends are here, plus like, every teacher from Baxter.’

Zelda ignored the shiver down her spine triggered by those last few words. ‘You can never be too careful.’ She eyed the large banner screaming “Fall Fest!” with distaste as they crossed the fairground threshold. ‘Though I wonder if your mortal high school could at least try to keep you out of trouble, instead of encouraging you to risk your life in these death traps.’ She gestured at the spinning machines that had risen up around them, all promising fun, thrills, and horrors in ghastly flashing neon.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. ‘They’re rides, and they’re safety checked a bazillion times. I’ve come here every year and never died once. Now do you have anything else to complain about or can I go meet Harvey?’

Zelda folded her arms across her chest. ‘Fine. But if I see anything even slightly amiss –‘

‘– then I will come running home and never face the intense dangers of the mortal fairground ever gain.’

‘Good. Have... Fun, I suppose.’

And with that Sabrina was off, practically fleeing from her aunt in favor of that dopey mortal boy. Zelda did not take it personally; her business here was much more somber than cotton candy and fair rides. She had volunteered, begrudgingly, to come to the annual school carnival only because of the recent dangers that seemed to lurk around every corner of Greendale, mortal or otherwise. Zelda had lived in the town for centuries, but never before had she experienced such a sinister shift in the air. Disquieting; a change in the balance that was impossible to define, only felt. Whatever it was, Zelda was determined to keep it from hurting her family.

Even if that meant joining the mortals in all their garish drivel. Zelda strode towards a less packed corner of the grounds, glaring icicles at a screaming child in her path until he fell silent and skittered away. She longed for a cigarette. Everything she saw made her itch: the tired parents dragging behind their hyperactive spawn, the shrieking metal rides ripping the air around her in half, the carnies shouting at passersby to step right up and win some cheap plastic prize...

Zelda froze. There, just across the path, was Mary, standing at one of the gaming booths. No, not standing – posing. One hand on her hip, leaning at a dramatic angle over the counter so that her thick hair fell just so over her shoulders, framing her décolletage. Rows of glass bottles and flimsy stuffed animals were stacked behind her, though she was ignoring them all, engaged instead with a gaggle of teenage boys who looked absolutely delighted to have her attention. Zelda suspected this had more to do with the extremely inappropriate red dress Mary was modeling than her explanation of the ring toss.

Zelda watched from afar, equal parts fury and apprehension. It had been over a week since she had seen Mary. After the night of her illness, Zelda had awoken in Mary’s bed to find the witch already gone, a note left on the dresser with a simple “Back at work” scribbled in red ink. No thanks, no mention of the night before. The woman clearly had no manners to speak of. No wonder Sabrina had become increasingly unwieldy in recent months, Zelda thought, if Mary was the one setting the example.

Beyond irritation at Mary’s rudeness, Zelda had initially given little thought to her disappearance. However, as the days passed with no visit, phone call, or message, she began to worry. She even asked Sabrina, as nonchalantly as possible, if Mary was back in the classroom – to which Sabrina confirmed that yes, Ms. Wardwell had returned, apparently claiming to have miraculously freed herself from a sordid blood curse. (Zelda had snorted at this, but declined to explain to her niece why it was so amusing. Better to keep the fact to herself that Sabrina’s teacher was better at telling tall tales than followers of the false god.) So it seemed Mary was indeed well enough to teach, but not well enough to give Zelda a minute of her time.

Well, she had a minute now. Zelda marched towards Mary, doing nothing to temper the fury in her eyes. 

‘Ms. Wardwell!’ Her hiss interrupted whatever nonsense Mary was imparting to the youths around her. The teenagers scattered on Zelda’s approach, but Mary remained leaning lazily over the counter, as if Zelda’s rage was just another carnival attraction.

‘Zelda, my dear. What are you doing here?’ She brought one hand up to cradle her chin in polite interest.

‘Don’t do that,’ Zelda snapped. 

‘What am I doing?’

‘That thing. With your voice. I’m not so easily manipulated.’

Mary’s eyebrow lifted in a rough translation of “if that’s what helps you sleep at night.” But she dropped the voice all the same. ‘You seem irked.’

‘And you seem perfectly healthy.’

‘I am, thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Zelda said, pointedly. ‘A little late.’

‘I’m sorry, do you mean that charming mortal medicine you dropped by?’ Mary’s lips curled like this was some hilarious private joke between her and herself. ‘That was very sweet, but very unnecessary.’

Zelda stared at Mary, baffled. ‘Unnecessary?’

‘I managed to break that curse myself. That mortal medicine –‘ Mary gave a dramatic shudder. ‘Well. As long as it made you feel useful.’

Zelda had an overwhelming urge to slap the smirk off Mary’s face. Instead she was pushed by a stubby blonde thing, demanding Mary give him a prize.

Zelda stood to the side while Mary returned to her saccharine affectations in telling the boy the rules. She kept her rage at a simmer while she waited, tapping her heel against the wet ground. She noticed how Mary’s eyes caught and reflected the light around her with added dimension, impossible depth. Mary, still speaking to the child, caught Zelda looking and grinned, as self-satisfied as a winner of the silly fairground game. Zelda cursed herself for being so obvious and made an exaggerated half-turn away from the woman’s infuriating face.

Finally, once the child was sent off the proud new owner of a stuffed bear, Zelda swung back into place in front of Mary.

‘Regardless of what you were suffering from,’ She said, her indignation no lesser from the interruption, ‘you could at least have had the courtesy to call me and tell me you were alright.’ 

Mary’s lacquered nails fiddled with the bucket of plastic rings in front of her. She began taking them out one by one, placing them into neat stacks on the counter. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because. Because–‘ Zelda faltered. Mary had crouched down and was staring intently at her little piles, counting wordlessly under her breath. ‘I’m sorry, am I boring you?’ Zelda asked, amazed at the gall of this woman.

‘Not at all,’ Mary said. She rose from her crouch and, at last, met Zelda’s gaze. ‘You coming to see me during my illness was a very friendly thing to do. But frankly, I have enough friends.’

Zelda felt her face flush. ‘We don’t need to be friends. And, so do I,’ she added quickly. She lowered her voice a few decibels, leaning in to better keep their conversation to themselves. ‘We could still...’ She let the thought hang unfinished, gesturing at Mary to draw her own conclusions.

‘Still what?’ Mary cocked her head, her blue eyes glittering.

Zelda exhaled in frustration. ‘Must I spell it out for you? Here, of all places.’

Mary studied Zelda for a moment, face tensed like she was solving a complicated bit of algebra. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but then – a minuscule crack in composure, so rare with Mary. She closed it again.

In one abrupt motion, Mary’s arms were suddenly wrapped tightly around Zelda’s waist, and they weren’t at the booth anymore, but the dark passageway behind, and Mary was kissing Zelda with deep, irrevocable passion. Startled, Zelda did not think to resist, and then did not want to, letting her frustration with Mary melt away at her hot, desperate touch. Praise Satan, she’d missed her. The need was there, consuming her, and Mary knew just how to fulfill it – her red mouth traveling from Zelda’s lips to neck to chest and then Zelda was pinned against the passageway wall, Mary between her legs, bringing her to ecstasy and it was all Zelda could do not to cry out–

And just as suddenly, they were back at the front of the booth, the only evidence of what had just happened the slight tremble in Zelda’s legs and the new wetness on Mary’s smudged lipstick. Zelda smoothed her hair and cast about self consciously, pressing down her dress with both hands. But no one seemed to notice that the two women had just vanished and then reappeared, one of them markedly more flustered.

‘I see what you mean,’ Mary said, running a thumb over her bottom lip with a devilish smile. ‘Maybe you should come over tonight and we can continue... How did you put it? Not being friends.’

All Zelda could do was nod. ‘Yes. Fine.’ She pulled out a cigarette with a shaky hand.

‘You can’t smoke that here.’

‘Yes, I know. Well I’m going to –‘ Zelda pointed with her unlit cigarette in a few directions before stumbling towards one of them, any of them, as long as it was away from Mary. ‘See you tonight.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Mary said, using that maddening, breathy, overtly seductive voice.

Zelda knew she had just been thoroughly manipulated. The thing was, she didn’t think she cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you know this show will have a carnival ep at some point...
> 
> Again, thank you!!!! For all the comments, they make my life so much better!! So much so that I can’t decide how long this should be so I’ll figure that out later! Mary, stop being a dick!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Zelda go to the opera.

Mary was glad she did not end things with Zelda. Sure, she had meant to – for after that mortal illness and her shameful display of need, what self-respecting witch wouldn’t sever ties with any witnesses? Plus, she had come dangerously close to blathering on about who she really was, a hair away from destroying everything she was working towards... She could not afford any recklessness, not now. The only solution was to immediately cease any contact with the other witch.

But then, at the carnival, Zelda had looked so irresistible, so deliciously frustrated. Mary wanted nothing more than to turn her fastidious rage into pure pleasure, and that transformation was too much fun to give up. Such entertainment was hard to come by. So Zelda would remain a part of her life, at least for now.

And now that Mary was executing her latest plan, she was grateful she had kept Zelda close. She was much more useful this way.

———

‘Are you busy tomorrow?’

‘Mm.’ Zelda grunted in the negative but did not look up from the Satanic Bible in her lap. Mary applied her scarlet lip in the vanity mirror and watched Zelda out of the corner of her eye, bemused at the witch’s absorption in the unholy text.

‘Must I compete with ancient Latin for your attention?’ Mary swiveled in her chair and threw her hair over her shoulder, pursing her newly painted lips in a pout.

But Zelda kept her eyes trained on the pages in front of her. ‘You forget that you are just one of the many things that interest me in this world. Exempli gratia.’

Mary raised one eyebrow and turned back to the mirror. ‘Veni vidi vichi.’

‘You certainly veni,’ Zelda muttered.

Mary shot Zelda a look in the mirror, but the woman remained in her book, silently mouthing out a phrase. A lock of ginger hair fell in front of her face and she pushed it aside, frustrated at the interruption to her study. Mary found Zelda’s focus endearing as it was ridiculous, considering the woman likely had the whole text imprinted in her memory by now. A familiar tension seized her chest, and Mary quickly returned to her reflection, not wanting to ruminate on the other witch any more than she had to. Today had to go exactly as planned; no distractions allowed.

‘I have tickets to the opera in Franklin tomorrow,’ Mary announced when it became clear Zelda was not going to be initiating conversation this morning.

‘Their productions are very respectable,’ Zelda said, attention still in her book.

‘So I’ve heard.’ Just the day before Mary had visited Hilda at her kitschy workplace, and she was happy to prattle off her sister’s favorite pastimes with little prompting. ‘I do have an extra ticket. If you’re interested.’

At last, Zelda looked up from her Bible, her expression morphing from surprise to suspicion in an instant. Finally, she said, ‘I can’t,’ shutting her Bible with a definitive thud. ‘I’m busy.’

Mary held back an eye roll. Such petty games were inopportune, though unsurprising, given the recent chill in their relationship. Ever since the carnival, Zelda had treated Mary with a frigidity usually reserved for waiters who got her order wrong and then asked for a tip. Even in bed, their relations had become rough and competitive, much more a battle for satisfaction than ever before. Mary knew that Zelda’s frosty deportment was for the best; she had been the one to ask for this distance between them, after all. But for Mary’s current goal to succeed, she would need to thaw that exterior just a bit.

‘But I thought you said you were free tomorrow?’ Mary asked, fluttering her eyelashes innocently.

‘I forgot, I have plans,’ Zelda said, lighting another cigarette. ‘Father Blackwood is visiting.’

Mary could not mask the snort of disgust that came from the back of her throat. Another unpleasant addition to their relationship: the constant reminder of Father Blackwood’s place in Zelda’s life. What that idiot male could possibly offer Zelda that she could not was beyond her.

‘Must he... Visit you quite so often?’

‘His wife is pregnant.’

‘So?’

‘I’m their midwife. He needs my support.’

‘And is that _support_ included in the midwifing fee, or do you charge extra?’

Mary suddenly felt Zelda’s presence behind her. She turned from her mirror to find Zelda upright, arms tightly crossed against her chest. Her eyes blazed as bright as her cigarette.

‘If that were the case,’ Zelda spat, ‘I think you’d find you’ve chalked up quite a bill.’

Mary bit back her initial response, a gibe equally rancorous that would surely send the woman out of the house in a huff. Instead she stood and placed her hands on Zelda’s arms, squeezing gently.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mary said, trying her best to reflect the apology in her face. Admitting fault was not in her nature, and she feared it would come across as disingenuous. But Zelda’s frame relaxed a fraction, and she let her arms fall from her chest, extinguishing her cigarette with a flick of her finger.

‘I know you like to be cruel,’ Zelda said, her voice taking on a hint of softness that Mary had not realized she’d been missing. ‘But sometimes it’s okay not to be.’

‘Let me make it up to you,’ Mary said. ‘Reschedule your plans and come with me tomorrow. I promise to be nice.’

Zelda set her mouth in a frown. ‘I don’t know that I should leave Sabrina–’

‘–It’s only one night away. What could she get up to in one night?’

Zelda eyed the other woman wearily. Finally, she sighed. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Perfect,’ Mary said, snaking one arm around Zelda’s waist and pulling her closer. She pushed aside the niggling of guilt in the back of her mind, the discomfort that came from lying to Zelda. After all, assuming everything went to plan, it was only Sabrina’s mortal friends who would be in harm’s way, not Sabrina herself.

Zelda returned Mary’s embrace with a tender kiss that vanished Mary’s doubts. ‘But remember,’ Zelda whispered into Mary’s ear with a growl that set her nerves alight, ‘You don’t have to be too nice.’

Mary grinned. She would need to reapply her lipstick, after all.

——-

Zelda could not remember the last time she went on a date. Though her bedroom companions had increased twofold in the last six months, neither Mary nor Faustus had ever entertained the idea of romance before getting to the meat of their relationship.

Not that Zelda was expecting romance from Mary tonight. She chided herself for slipping into that old pattern of thought; the other witch had been perfectly clear that her interests were limited to the pleasures of the flesh, a fact underlined by their chilly encounters in recent weeks. Zelda had no desire to waste energy pining after someone who did not seem capable of a mature, adult relationship – as was her current lot. She was happy to adhere to Mary’s strict boundaries, careful to squash any affection for the woman with barbs so sharp she worried that their true function as a defense was obvious. But Mary always responded in kind, making Zelda question if she had developed a similar arsenal of deflection over the years, or if she really was that heartless.

And now, this date. Ridiculous, Zelda thought as she pinned her hair back in a cascading wave. She smoothed her dress – despite having been recently pulled from the depths of her closet, the deep-cut turquoise number still clung to all the right places, especially when helped by an elegant heel.

Zelda studied her reflection in the mirror. She could not compete with Mary in terms of narcissism, but even she had to admit that she didn’t look half bad. Only her face betrayed any anxiety about the evening ahead. She tried to relax, let her guarded expression fall away to one of neutral apathy, but the same tensed frown stared back.

No matter what she had claimed the previous morning, Zelda was sure this date meant little to Mary, and Zelda was determined to prove it meant even less to her. She was not to be made the plaything of Mary Wardwell. Not tonight.

——-

When Mary saw the blue vision gliding towards her at the train station, she was certain she had fallen victim to some sort of bewitching enchantment. No woman should have such a powerful effect on her heart rate.

Only when Zelda was directly in front of her did Mary realize her mouth was hanging ajar. She quickly shut it but still struggled to form words, so magnetized by the perfectly draped figure before her.

‘You should show off your accouterments more often,’ Mary finally said once she had found her voice.

‘I think you show off yours enough for the both of us,’ Zelda muttered. ‘Though the green is nice.’ She reached out and felt the delicate fabric of Mary’s dress at her sleeve.

Mary smiled and allowed the warmth of Zelda’s touch to radiate from her shoulder throughout her body. She was accustomed to writing off the conflicting cocktail of emotions associated with Zelda as the result of temperamental mortal hormones, hardly worth her time. But as she breathed in Zelda’s scent, that fragrance of lilies and cigarettes and strong coffee, she realized she wanted to give in, to let those weak human feelings take hold and not let go.

And why not tonight? Just because the date was motivated by a grander plan didn’t mean Mary couldn’t throw herself into the role of devoted lover. She was always up for a challenge. Mary took Zelda’s arm with renewed purpose and led them towards the train to Franklin.

——-

No matter Mary’s intentions, Zelda soon made it clear that she would make any enjoyable evening an uphill battle. As soon as they stepped on board, she disengaged her arm from Mary’s and strode to their carriage, ignoring the porter’s offer of a complimentary glass of wine for their journey (‘ _I_ don’t need alcohol to endure an hour’s train journey,’ she withered, with a pointed look at Mary.) Once in their seats, Zelda sat in staunch silence, electing to stare icily out the window instead of at her companion. Mary tried teasing her, first with words, and then with a hand running slowly up her thigh. But both attempts were swatted away with a huff of impatience, the latter with a ‘ _Really,_ Mary,’ dripping in so much condescension that Mary recoiled back to her own seat, feeling like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

After an hour of strained silence, the train began to slow to a stop. Mary cleared her throat.

‘Do you plan on being this obstinate all evening?’

Zelda glowered. ‘Must you be so dramatic?’ she said, standing and reaching for her purse. ‘I’m doing what you asked.’

‘I don’t remember asking for a shrew.’

Zelda sighed. ‘I’m here, a warm body for the seat next to yours. Let’s not pretend this is anything more than that, shall we?’

Before Mary could respond, the train came to a sudden halt, throwing Zelda off balance. Mary reached out to steady her. She expected Zelda to pull away, but she allowed Mary‘s hand to stay, a bollard on her back.

‘I know it sounds crazy. But I thought, we’re not in Greendale anymore,’ Mary said, stepping an inch closer to Zelda.

‘Shockingly, I can also read a map.’ Zelda’s body had tensed at Mary’s advance, but she still did not back away.

‘We’re two towns away from nosey children and coven gossip,’ Mary continued, voice low. ‘Tonight, I thought we could do things differently.’

‘I have little interest in being fingered in a public toilet.’

‘Not that,’ Mary said.

‘What, then?’

Mary removed her palm from Zelda’s back. She dropped it to her side and entwined her fingers in Zelda’s.

‘This,’ Mary said, simply. ‘Holding the hand of a woman whose company I enjoy.’

Zelda scoffed. ‘I am well aware you enjoy my company–’

‘–not just that,’ Mary interrupted. ‘Every part of you. I enjoy every single part.’

Zelda inspected Mary’s face for a moment, searching for a punchline, a contingency. Mary faced her scrutiny with her own clear, unblinking gaze. Finally, satisfied, Zelda gave Mary’s hand a light squeeze, her whole body relaxing.

‘Let’s go, then.’

——

The opera house danced with life in Franklin’s city center, its bright marble columns gleaming with the opulence of its patrons. The opening night audience was costumed in their best finery, milling about the theatre as both model and judge. While they gleefully condemned their peers for poor taste and inappropriate plus ones, no one could place the two women who entered, hand in hand, one in turquoise and one in brilliant green.

Mary hardly registered their curious whispers, so enjoying hearing Zelda’s views on opera (‘the only valid form of musical performance’) and Czech composers (‘They capture the true misery of the mortal condition in a way Verdi never could’). Halfway through her review of the original production of Jenůfa, which she had caught in Brno years before, Zelda stopped mid-sentence.

‘I’m sorry, am I saying something amusing?’ She asked Mary, who had been sipping her wine and staring at Zelda with an increasingly dopey smile.

‘No, no. I just find your passion infectious.’

‘I’m discussing infanticide, Mary. It’s no laughing matter.’

‘Of course not,’ Mary said, setting her mouth in a stoic frown and redoubling her effort to appear the focused student.

‘As I was saying,’ Zelda continued, one eyebrow raised. ‘These operas are a lesson in mortal weakness.’

‘How so?’

‘In Jenůfa, for example,’ Zelda said, pronouncing the title with an accent that raised Mary’s body temperature by a few degrees, ‘The mortal woman ends up with the man who hurt her just a few months previous.’

Mary felt a new warmth on the back of her neck, this one coming from within. She traced her fingertip along the rim of her wineglass. ‘But, from what you said, he hurt her for the greater good. So maybe she was right to forgive him.’

Zelda laughed. ‘Hardly. Self interest masquerading as wider betterment. Pure mortal idiocy. I see it with Sabrina and her friends all the time.’

At the mention of Sabrina, Mary’s throat grew dry. ‘I’m going to get another glass,’ she said, downing the last few drops in her cup.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Zelda said, finishing her glass as well.

‘No,’ Mary said, quickly. ‘I’ll be right back.’ She gave Zelda a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared to the bar on the other side of the atrium.

Mary motioned to the bartender and leaned heavily against the counter, trying to ease the stitch that had emerged in her gut. When her glass was replenished, she gulped the libation greedily, sure she had never tasted anything quite so good.

‘Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Zelda Spellman?’

Mary looked up to see the bartender was addressing her. ‘That’s me,’ she lied.

‘There’s a call for you. Hilda Spellman.’

Mary cast a quick glance over her shoulder, but Zelda was still across the theatre lobby, admiring the imposing chandelier.

‘Tell her I’m indisposed,’ Mary said, quickly grabbing her wine and returning to Zelda’s side. She took Zelda’s hand and led her into the theatre, pushing down the growing unease in her chest.

The opera was beautiful, as lush and sensational as the venue promised. Mary was surprised to find herself absorbed by the tragedies of the characters; mortal and weak, as Zelda described, but also oddly sympathetic. Zelda placed her hand on Mary’s knee and kept it there throughout the act, squeezing lightly whenever a new twist was revealed. As the first act came to a close, Mary turned to Zelda to find her already staring at her.

‘I don’t know if you noticed, but they’re doing an opera up there,’ Mary said, pointing at the stage. ‘It’s almost as interesting as watching me.’

Zelda’s face flushed pink. ‘I like seeing your reactions,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the opera with any worthy companion.’

Mary grinned. ‘I’m a worthy companion?’

Zelda rolled her eyes, but a small smile still crept up the corners of her lips. ‘Don’t get big headed. You can be a worthy companion and still the most insufferable woman alive.’

By the curtain call, Mary was elated. She could not remember the last time she had felt such joy; it was a foreign emotion, one mired with mortal connotations that would usually give her pause. But the glasses of wine throughout the night had diluted any unpleasant reminders of what lay ahead, blinding her with a blurry comfort.

She tripped lazily into Zelda as they left their seats, wrapping her arm tightly around the other woman’s waist for support. She found her mind tipsily meandering around an alternative future, here in Franklin: she and Zelda, together, far away from the Greendale coven and the watchful eye of the Dark Lord...

Mary became aware of someone calling out Zelda’s name, a distant voice coming from the other end of the lobby. She quickly identified the bartender from earlier, phone in hand, frowning at Mary. It seemed the idiot male had figured out Mary’s earlier deception, likely thanks to Hilda’s meddling on the other end of the line.

Just as Zelda was about to turn and see the man herself, Mary grabbed her in a tight embrace and kissed her, imbuing all the passion and joy from the night in her lips. Zelda, who had finished as many glasses of white as Mary had red, returned the kiss greedily, letting her fingers flutter over Mary’s bare back.

By the time the two women drew apart, much of the lobby had cleared, including the pesky bartender. Mary let out a breath of relief and followed Zelda to the doors.

Outside, the skies had opened up to a light drizzle, coating the streets in a metallic shimmer. Mary walked down the steps of the opera house to the road, shielding her face with her hand and wishing the few lingering mortals would exit quicker so she could cast a dry spell without being seen. She noticed Zelda was no longer at her side, but had paused a few paces back, still on the opera house steps.

‘We can cast an umbrella, once we’re out of the street,’ Mary said, misattributing Zelda’s concern to the rain.

Zelda wiped a wet strand of hair from her eyes. ‘What happens now?’

‘Well, we have the hotel room booked for tonight. Dinner. Wine. Bed.’ Mary raised her eyebrows suggestively.

‘No, I mean–’ Zelda shook her head like this would make the words she needed fall into place. ‘Once we’re back, in Greendale. Is this just for now?’

Mary was tempted to feign ignorance. To lie. But looking at Zelda’s sweet face, wet with rain, she couldn’t. ‘Does it matter if it is?’ She asked, meeting Zelda on the steps. ‘Can’t we just enjoy this, for now?’

Zelda shut her eyes, tight, wrapping her arms around her body like a shield. ‘Maybe you can compartmentalize like that, or maybe I really do mean nothing to you,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘But I can’t continue this way.’ She opened her eyes and fixed Mary with a harsh stare. ‘It hurts.’

Mary felt the words like a knife to her own absent heart. ‘I thought–‘ She began, the wine making her voice louder, more accusatory than she intended. ‘I thought you liked the way things were.’

‘I did,’ Zelda said, wiping the wetness from her face with the back of her hand. Mary hoped it was rain and not tears. ‘But now I’m afraid... I’m afraid I’m falling in love with you.’

Mary’s breath caught in her chest. The words seemed to echo in the empty street, more powerful than any distant traffic. Mary felt like she had just been dunked in a cold bath of ice water, her body frozen in shock. Suddenly intensely sober, the reality around her was too bright, too sharp. What was she doing here, messing around with the hearts of witches?

‘Zelda, I–’

Mary’s words were interrupted by a thunderous snap from behind her. She whirled around to see Hilda, her expression a tapestry of frustration and sorrow. She ignored Mary and addressed Zelda.

‘Sabrina’s hurt. Come home.’ The astral projection fixed Mary with a venomous glare before disappearing once more.

Zelda let out an involuntary sound, halfway between a sob and a groan. Mary went to her, tried to hold her, wanting nothing more than to erase that pain from her body. But Zelda pushed her away.

‘I have to go.’

‘Let me come with you–’

‘–No,’ Zelda said, practically shouting. ‘Why am I here? Why did you bring me here?’

‘Zelda, wait–’ Mary said, following the other woman as she half-ran, half-stumbled down the stairs onto the street.

‘Playing dress up for your benefit,’ Zelda said, transforming her gown into her usual black number with an angry slice of her hand. ‘Was there nothing good on television tonight? You thought you would see how much you could humiliate me instead?’

Mary tried again to speak, but Zelda’s rampage would not be stopped. ‘Now Sabrina’s hurt, and it’s all my fault. I hope you’re happy.’

‘Sabrina wasn’t supposed to–’

‘–Stay away from me and my family,’ Zelda hissed through gritted teeth. With a sweep of her arm, she was gone.

Mary stared at the empty space Zelda left behind, her heart pounding. An anguish was rising in her chest, threatening to overflow. She  turned her face up to the rain and let the drops fall onto her skin, letting them invade her vision, turning everything into a blur of lights and color. She stood in that position for a long time, praying the rain find its way to her mind, to blur the memories there, too.

But no matter how hard she tried, Zelda’s hurt face stayed etched in her brain, until that was all she could see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your feedback, it is great motivation!! Let’s hope these dumb witches work it out soon!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda and Mary struggle with the consequences of their fight.

 

Hilda woke up alone in her and Zelda’s bedroom for the fourth time that week. She checked the clock: five a.m. No surprise, then; ever since Sabrina’s accident, Zelda had been going to bed after Hilda and rising long before anyone else in the house.

Hilda swung her feet over the side of her bed and wrapped her fluffy robe tightly around her waist. No point in trying to go back to sleep; Zelda’s absence had already set her mind on its usual hamster wheel of worry about her sister, not to be hindered by a feeble attempt at slumber. Groggily, Hilda plodded her way downstairs to the kitchen, desperate for a strong cup of tea.

At the foot of the stairs, a movement in the corner of the dark room made her freeze. Hilda turned on the overhead light and, when her heart restored its steady rhythm, marched into the dining room.

‘What on earth are you doing, sitting in the dark?’ Hilda asked. ‘You scared me half to death.’

Zelda did not respond, but continued writing in her little notebook; an action she had presumably been doing in the pitch black before Hilda arrived. Hilda watched as Zelda transcribed the Latin from the Bible onto her lined pages, muttering the phrases to herself. Hilda was used to her sister’s reverence for the Unholy Text, but the new intensity in Zelda’s hunched shoulders and whitened knuckles made her shiver.

Hilda reached out a hand and pulled gently at the notebook, trying to break her sister’s concentration. ‘Zelds, dear, will you talk to me? What are you doing in the dark?’

Zelda jerked the notebook back in place without a glance at Hilda. ‘Trying to ignore your babbling.’

Hilda sighed. ‘Did you even go to bed last night?’

Zelda ignored the question, and Hilda knew it would do not good to ask again. The dark shadows under her sister’s eyes were answer enough. Instead she turned towards the kitchen. ‘Tea or coffee?’

Zelda only responded after Hilda repeated the question twice more. ‘Not coffee.’

‘Should’ve guessed,’ Hilda said under her breath as she filled the kettle. Ever since Sabrina’s life was endangered by a rogue curse, Zelda had vehemently refused coffee. Praise Satan, Sabrina had made it through the worst with the help of her family’s joint counter-spells, chanted ceaselessly throughout the night. Now, a few days later, Sabrina had regained her strength and was treating the whole ordeal as another one of her eccentric misadventures, blithely skipping back to normality with a shrug at her family’s “overdramatics.”

Sabrina’s blasé attitude made it easier for Hilda and Ambrose to return to their daily routines; Hilda soon back at the bookshop and Ambrose busy preparing corpses downstairs. Zelda seemed to be the one Spellman permanently marred by the incident. She refused to leave the house, burying herself in her Bible at all hours of the night but skipping Black Mass in favor of private prayer. She treated Hilda with more mordant hostility than usual, punctuated by moments of complete distraction. Most confounding of all was her sudden distaste for coffee – a behavioral shift Hilda would assume was unrelated to Sabrina’s accident, if it weren’t for the highly suspicious timing. Hilda didn’t pretend to understand her sister’s labyrinthine justification for the change, but she had a guess as to which raven-haired witch was responsible.

Hilda brought the two cups of steaming tea over to the dining table. Zelda had finally closed her books and was smoking out the window, flicking her ash into Hilda’s flower pots. Hilda hoped she had not been doing this all night, or the seedlings would be choked to death under a pile of soot. She made a mental note to check on them in the daylight and handed Zelda her cup of tea.

Hilda realized too late that Zelda’s whole body was trembling. Zelda’s hand shook so much on taking the mug that the hot liquid splashed over the side, wetting the floor. Hilda reached out and steadied her hand, hushing her sister’s automatic string of expletives.

‘Easily mended,’ Hilda said, quickly evaporating the puddle with a simple rhyming spell. The charm did little to settle Zelda, however; her eyes, red and darkly rimmed, darted every which way without landing on anything specific. If Hilda didn’t know any better, she would think Zelda had become slave to some sort of addictive potion.

‘You need to sleep, love,’ Hilda said, guiding Zelda to sit at the table.

Zelda shook her head. ‘I need to be here for Sabrina.’

‘I’ll wait up for her. You go to bed.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of setting my own bedtime.’ Zelda’s scowl was raw as ever, framed by an exhausted pallor.

Hilda tried to meet her glare with one of equal fortitude, but Zelda had always been the reigning champion of staring matches. She blinked and shifted her attention to her tea. ‘Of course you are.’

Triumphant, Zelda continued. ‘We need to ensure that Sabrina’s ready for her return to school,’ she said, rapping her knuckles on the table. ‘I can escort her to the Academy tomorrow if you take her to the mortal school today.’

Hilda chuckled nervously. ‘Escort her? Are you sure... Is that strictly necessary?’ Her smile faded when met with Zelda’s stony expression.

‘She almost died, Hilda,’ Zelda hissed. ‘I’d rather we not let it happen again.’

‘Of course,’ Hilda said quickly. ‘Me neither, obviously. Only... That was a freak accident. It couldn’t happen again.’

‘You don’t know that!’ Zelda’s voice reached a sharp, panicked note that made Hilda jump. These days Zelda seemed always to be on the precipice of hysteria; as a result, Hilda was perpetually on edge, too. ‘She is our responsibility,’ Zelda continued, modulating her pitch. ‘We failed her.’

Hilda sighed. The two had been replaying the same conversation for the past week, and it always ended the same way: Zelda retreating to their room, slamming the door in Hilda’s face. Hilda was used to her sister’s short fuse, but this new mood – part sorrow, part unmitigated rage – was impossible to temper. Hilda softened her tone, too tired to enter into another battle. ‘Sabrina’s right as rain now. All she wants to do is get back to school and her friends. In fact, I was thinking...’ She hesitated.

Zelda narrowed her eyes. ‘What?’

Hilda fiddled with her robe sleeve, picking off some furry pink lint. ‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t keep the thought to yourself, Hilda. You only have so many.’

Hilda frowned and bit her lip. When she spoke, it was more to her half-empty cup than to Zelda. ‘I was thinking, I’m much more worried about you.’

Zelda’s pale cheeks flushed scarlet. Don’t,’ she snapped, venomous as a reptilian fang. ‘I don’t need your thoughts, and I certainly don’t need your worry.’

Hilda knew Zelda was strong – perhaps the strongest woman she knew. But while her sister traded in strength, Hilda dealt in compassion. If only Zelda knew how to ask.

‘I could help you through this,’ Hilda said, gently. ‘I can whip up something right now that will make you feel much better–’

‘–I have no use for the dregs of an ex-communicate.’

‘My potions always work, you know that. Maybe a heart healing–’

‘–Stop it,’ Zelda said, cutting Hilda off with a loud thwack of her palm on the table. ‘I don’t want your pity.’

‘I’m not pitying you, Zelds.‘ Hilda kept her eyes trained on her sister, who was now busying herself with a cigarette that refused to light. She placed her hand next to Zelda’s on the table, not quite touching, not quite apart. ‘But I also don’t like seeing you punish yourself.’

Zelda fumbled and dropped the unlit cigarette onto the table. Hilda’s words hung, motionless, weighing down each second that passed. The soft ticking of a distant clock filled the dead air.

Finally, Zelda cleared her throat and picked up the cigarette. ‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘I don’t do that anymore.’

The moment, caught somewhere between the past and the present, dissipated in the tiny ember that materialized between Zelda’s fingers. Hilda let out a quiet breath of relief, careful not to let Zelda see just how deep her worry ran.

‘Still. There are other ways,’ Hilda continued. ‘Not sleeping, writing out passages like you’ve been possessed–’

‘–I don’t expect you to understand the value of the Unholy Text,’ Zelda snapped with vitriol. She stood from the table, pacing around the small dining room. ‘Frankly, Hilda, I’m shocked. We are all responsible for what happened that night. Including you.’

Hilda’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t see why I should apologize for having a job. I was working.’

Zelda scoffed. ‘Hardly. Swanning off with that mortal–‘

‘Please, Zelda,’ Hilda said, her patience quickly wearing thin. ‘You say “mortal” like it’s a bad word. Dr. Cee is my friend.’

Zelda rolled her eyes. ‘This naivety at your age is embarrassing. That man only hired you because he wants one thing; they all do.’

Hilda pushed her tea away from her. ‘Just because that’s all Mary Wardwell wanted from you–‘

The words were out before Hilda could stop them. Zelda stilled mid-stride, spinning on her heels to face Hilda with a monstrous look in her eye. Hilda braced herself for a slap, a kick, a hammer to the head. But Zelda made no move towards her. Instead, she shut her eyes and slumped backwards, giving all her weight to the wall. She slid down until she was seated on the floor, clutching her knees to her chest like a child. It wasn’t quite crying; more like giving up.

Hilda jumped from her chair and moved around the table to embrace her sister. Zelda tensed at the contact, but did not push her away.

Hilda held on to Zelda until her breathing returned to normal. She gave her a squeeze and shifted back so that they sat side by side against the wall, their shoulders touching.

Zelda let out a long, shaky breath. ‘How much do you know?’

‘Nothing,’ Hilda said, far too quickly.

Zelda took a drag of her forgotten cigarette, steadying her breathing. ‘Hilda.’ It was a plea more than a demand.

Hilda smiled, sadly. ‘You know me. I always manage to cock up astral projections. That night I could hear snippets before my projection appeared. I heard Mary – well, I got the gist.’

Zelda winced. ‘Do they know? Sabrina and Ambrose?’

‘No!’ Hilda exclaimed. ‘Of course not. I didn’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t.’

‘Good,’ Zelda said. ‘Don’t.’

The two sat without speaking a while longer. Hilda wanted to offer words of comfort, but she feared empty platitudes would shatter this delicate moment of equilibrium, so rarely achieved between the two witches. So she stayed silent.

A sluggish winter sun began to rise through the window, its skeletal rays dotting the sisters in patterns of shadow and light. Hilda slapped her hands on her knees and made a move to stand.

‘I’m going to make us some breakfast,’ Hilda said. ‘I’ll need more than tea if I’m going to the high school.’

Zelda, still seated, nodded. ‘Thank you, Hilda.’

Hilda offered out her hand. ‘If it’s any consolation, Mary Wardwell seems like a right bitch.’

Zelda looked up at Hilda sharply, and Hilda was certain she had destroyed any harmony gained in the morning of wordless support. But then a flicker of a smile broke through, and Zelda took Hilda’s hand, using it to hoist herself off the ground.

‘You should make Sabrina oatmeal,’ Zelda said, a shadow of her tenacity returning. ‘With a drop of raven’s blood. She needs her strength.’

Hilda agreed. But as she prepared her family’s breakfast, her mind strayed to other matters: her niece’s penchant for near-death experiences, her sister’s pain, and one well-dressed witch who stood at the center of it all. Yes, it was clear Mary Wardwell needed a talking to. And it looked like Hilda would have to be the one to do it.

——-

The school was mostly empty by now; only a handful of students left, detained for note-passing and tardiness in the main office. Hilda offered an encouraging smile to them on her way to the receptionist, but they only scowled back in mulish defiance. Yes, the teenage angst was thick enough to chew in these halls. Hilda was glad Sabrina rarely required her presence within the boundaries of Baxter High; it was not an altogether pleasant place.

After giving her name and the purpose for her visit to the receptionist, Hilda was directed down the corridor to a standard mortal classroom, now devoid of students. Greendale’s history was scribbled across the chalkboard in a languid scrawl, and Hilda tutted at the wild inaccuracies in its timeline.

‘Don’t like what you see?’

Mary Wardwell’s voice from behind made Hilda jump and clutch her purse tighter. She whipped around to see the woman leaning against the door to what was presumably her office, arm resting casually on the doorframe. Every part of her body was at an angle: hips one way, torso the other. She reminded Hilda of a carefully constructed pyramid of cards.

Hilda cursed herself – she had wanted to be the one to surprise Mary, not the other way around. Still, she was sure she could sense a shard of disappointment beneath that painted-on sneer. Hilda did her best to avoid the woman, but on the rare occasions they crossed paths Mary Wardwell always seemed to be auditioning for the role of a noir film’s femme fatale. It gave Hilda the uneasy feeling she’d forgotten to memorize her part of the script.

‘Admiring your handiwork,’ Hilda chuckled, waving at the board. ‘I’ve just popped by for a chat. I hope you weren’t expecting someone else.’ She kept smiling as she moved away from the board towards the student desks.

Mary flashed a toothy grin. ‘On the contrary. It’s always a pleasure to see one of Sabrina’s aunts.’

 _One more than the other_ , Hilda thought to herself. ‘I hear Sabrina’s getting on well.’ She perched her bag on one of the undersized writing tables like a small leather shield.

‘She is doing wonderfully,’ Mary said, ambling around the maze of desks, her red fingernails gliding over the surfaces. ‘She’s hardly affected by the accident at all.’

Hilda nodded. ‘She’s young. Resilient.’

‘It must have been difficult for you, Hilda,’ Mary was suddenly in front of Hilda, one singular desk remaining as a barrier between them. Hilda did her best not to flinch at the other woman’s proximity, but let her lean in closer as she continued in a husky vibrato. ‘I don’t know how you and your sister endure such tragedy.’

Hilda scrunched her nose. The woman had a particular odor that she had first taken for a cheap perfume, but now she was certain that fruitiness belonged to something else. She blanched instinctively as it dawned on her. ‘Have you been drinking?’

Mary laughed, her fragrant breath confirming Hilda’s suspicions. ‘Of course not!’ Mary slapped Hilda on the arm and winked. ‘Maybe a post-class wine. Keeps me from strangling the students. Want one?’

Hilda recoiled from Mary’s touch. ‘That’s very kind, but I have to get back soon. Also, it’s just gone four o’clock in the afternoon.’

Mary’s face contorted into an exaggerated smirk. ‘I didn’t take you for a teetotaler, Hilda Spellman. You’re supposed to be the fun one.’ That sharp grin again. ‘We’re allowed to have a drink now and again. Ex-communicate to ex-communicate.’ Mary stumbled through the last few syllables, the words proving too complex for her wine-addled brain. She performed an inelegant turn and half-tripped, half-slumped into the plastic chair she had been leaning against. At first she looked shocked at this change in altitude, and then profoundly upset. To Hilda’s horror, her face crumpled into something approximating tears.

The sight of Mary squished into a chair built for a child, staring up at Hilda with blurry, helpless eyes, softened Hilda’s distaste for the woman. But only by a fraction.

‘I’ll tell you this plainly, only because you are obviously in no fit state for multisyllabic conversation.’ Hilda slid into the adjacent seat and clasped her hands together on her lap. ‘Zelda’s doing about as well as you, my dear.’ Her words held pity and blame all at once.

Mary’s eyes narrowed. She sniffled. ‘Your bedside manner needs work.’

Hilda smiled, the warmth not quite reaching her eyes. ‘I don’t really care how you feel, if I’m being completely honest.’ But she took a handkerchief out of her purse and offered it to Mary all the same. ‘I care that you make things right with Zelda.’

Mary shook her head, swinging it heavily from side to side like an anvil. ‘I can’t love her.’

Hilda tutted. ‘Don’t tell me you believe that tosh about witches being incapable of love. That line has enough truth as “it’s not me, it’s you” or “my familiar says you’re possessed.”’

Mary frowned. ‘Someone broke up with you through their familiar?’

Hilda nodded. ‘Jason Tancini. I was eighteen. He said his familiar hated me and then turned around and started seeing Charlotte Montgomery.‘

Mary nodded sagely. ‘Men are bastards.’

Hilda raised her eyebrows. ‘I have no doubt that you are just as well-versed in breaking the hearts of witches.’ Hilda spoke over Mary’s groan, borne of disagreement or exasperation she wasn’t sure. ‘But I won’t let you do the same to my sister. She’s blaming herself for everything that’s happened, when you and I both know that’s not true.’

Mary looked up. ‘Blaming herself?’

‘Zelda thinks because she let herself have a life for the first time in years, she’s to blame for what happened to Sabrina.’

Mary tilted her head with a lopsided smile. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve distracted a witch out of her responsibilities.’

‘Now don’t you start,’ Hilda grumbled. ‘You were just as distracted by Zelda. Which is why you need to be honest with her.’

‘I told you, I can’t–‘

‘–You care enough that you don’t want her to be miserable, yes? So tell her the truth.’

Mary glowered, eyelids heavy. ‘The truth. Which is what, exactly?’

Hilda laughed, light and tinkling. ‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’ She leaned forward in her chair, still smiling, and lowered her voice to a near-whisper. ‘All I know is it’s a mighty big coincidence that all three of us were out of the house that night. Doesn’t happen often. As you well know.’

Mary’s scowl deepened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I think you do,’ Hilda said, her smile dropping from her lips, her voice turned frigid. ‘Now, I don’t know who you are, or what you’re up to, and I don’t really care. But you’re going to tell Zelda. And then you’re going to sod off. Find another coven. Because ex-communicate to ex-communicate? We don’t want you here.’

Mary met Hilda’s frozen stare with a thin-lipped frown. She didn’t respond but watched with dark eyes as Hilda stood, adopting her usual sunny disposition as if she had just traded Mary a recipe for scones.

‘I ‘d better be off,’ Hilda said, smiling. ‘Keep the handkerchief. Looks like you’ll need it.’

Hilda tried not to be petty. But the look she left on Mary’s face was as satisfying as any real violence she could have leveled against the woman. As Hilda stepped out of the school into the fresh, hormone-free air, she prayed to Satan that the witch would do as she was told so they could put this whole ordeal behind them.

Unbeknownst to Hilda, Mary Wardwell was not one for taking direction. And her role in the Spellmans’ world was far from over.

—-

Zelda was weary of her niece’s insistence that she accompany her into the woods. When Sabrina had requested her company that day after school, Zelda’s first instinct was to decline and swiftly end whatever ridiculous scheme her niece had in mind. As of late Zelda had much preferred the echoing silence of her oft-empty house over the drudgery of the outside world; a renewed devotion to her studies filled the hours, spent with one eye in her books and the other on Sabrina. But Zelda begrudgingly agreed to supervise Sabrina in her spell-casting, reasoning that if her niece was going to engage in reckless magical behavior, it was safer done under her watch.

Now, stomping through muddy leaves and narrowly avoiding low-hanging branches, Zelda regretted her lenience. She should have denied the request and sent Sabrina to her room at once; then at least she wouldn’t be here, navigating slippery ravines in one of her more constricting dresses. The trail was only getting more densely forested, and Sabrina showed no signs of slowing.

‘Sabrina, would you please tell me where you are taking us?’ Zelda asked, barely avoiding puncturing a croaking toad with her heel.

Sabrina, forging ahead with the determination of a scout troop leader, responded with an encouraging wave of her arm. ‘We’re almost there!’

Zelda cursed just loud enough for Sabrina to hear, eliciting a snigger from her niece. The woods could be a peaceful place, but not after the torrential downpour of the past few days, and not in these shoes. Zelda toyed with the idea of magicking her and Sabrina back home after this regretful foray into family spell-casting was over. She didn’t like to teach her niece to use magic as a crutch, but suspected the ultimate satisfaction of dry feet would counteract any bad example set by a quick transport spell.

So lost in thought, Zelda did not notice that the path was looking increasingly familiar, the tree branches curling up to the sky like they were frozen in prayer. It wasn’t until the unmistakable silhouette of Mary Wardwell’s house appeared, rising up from behind the bare trees in all its bleak gothic glory, that Zelda realized where Sabrina had led them. She halted midstep, tripping on a raised gnarled root in her haste.

Sabrina, hearing her aunt stumble, retreated a few paces to help her regain her balance.

Zelda put her hands on her hips, the very picture of parental disapproval. ‘Young lady, I hope for your sake you have not brought me to this house for any reason other than to admire the architecture.’

Sabrina’s eyes widened, her childhood knack for put-on innocence making an encore. ‘Miss Wardwell’s house? But she has the spell I need to borrow.’

Zelda raised one eyebrow, letting Sabrina know that her play-acting wouldn’t work. Not this time. ‘I believe I already forbade you from speaking to that woman–’

A sudden creak – a distant branch snapping, or was it a window opening in the house beyond? – cut Zelda’s scolding short. She lowered her voice and grabbed Sabrina’s arm, making to drag them both away from the place as quickly as possible. ‘We are going home. Now,’ Zelda hissed. ‘And you’re grounded.’

‘Sabrina?’

The purr of Mary Wardwell’s voice accosted Zelda’s ears like a sheet of broken glass, rendering her immobile. Her skin suddenly felt icy cold, tingling in shallow panic. Even as the rest of her body urged her to flee, she forced herself to turn and face the woman responsible for her broken heart.

Sabrina had already bounded up the porch steps to greet the teacher, oblivious to her aunt’s hesitation. She was chatting away about some school drama to Mary, vibrating with energy and gesturing every which way. But from what Zelda could tell, Mary was not even pretending to be interested in what the girl was saying, looking past her to Zelda with a maddening half-smirk.

Zelda shuffled forward to the edge of the porch, steadfastly avoiding Mary’s probing gaze. She moved close enough to be considered on the premises while not actually entering Mary’s abode and cleared her throat, speaking over Sabrina’s chatter. ‘Sabrina, get your spell so we can go home.’

Mary looked from Zelda to Sabrina in surprise. ‘Spell? What spell is this?’

A sinking feeling flooded Zelda’s stomach as the scope of her niece’s meddling dawned on her. ‘Yes, Sabrina. What spell?’

Sabrina turned from her teacher to her aunt with a shameless grin. She clapped her hands together, side-stepping away from Mary. ‘You know what, I forgot. I have to go meet Roz. I’m running late, actually.’ She quickly skipped down the steps of the porch, darting past Zelda with a wave. ‘See you at home, Auntie?’

But Zelda was not about to let her niece off so easily. She fell into step with Sabrina, stopping her a few yards from the house. ‘What are you doing, leaving me here? With her?’

Sabrina frowned. ‘I told you, I have to meet Roz–’

‘–Don’t lie, Sabrina, it’s not becoming. I cannot begin to image why you thought stranding me here with that woman was a good idea.’

Sabrina folded her arms across her chest. ‘Maybe because you guys have both been acting insane ever since you broke up.’

Zelda blinked, her rebuke momentarily stalled. ‘Ever since who broke up?’

‘Um. You? And Miss Wardwell?’

Zelda felt her face grow warm, her rage returned full force. ‘I am going to kill Hilda. How dare she spread my private business–’

‘–Aunt Hilda?’ Sabrina asked, confused. ‘She didn’t tell me anything. It was just super obvious.’

Zelda flushed an even deeper scarlet. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, seeing that Mary was still stationed on the porch, picking at her fingernails with studied nonchalance. Zelda had no doubt she was listening carefully to every word. She lowered her voice. ‘Well. As you say, we broke up. I have nothing to say to her.’

Sabrina rolled her eyes. ‘Come on. I may not be a relationship expert, but you’re taking this way too hard. Both of you.’

‘That could be because you almost died last week.’ Zelda huffed. She resisted the urge to look back at Mary again. ‘Both of us?’

‘Yeah, both of you,’ Sabrina said, exasperated. ‘You’re taking helicopter parenting to the next level, and Miss Wardwell’s completely lost it. She gave the entire class Fs on our last quiz to teach us that “life is unfair.” Everyone thinks it’s because Principal Hawthorne dumped her, but I know it’s not him, it’s you. Which means you can fix it.’

Zelda shook her head, mind racing with this new information. ‘It’s not so simple–’

‘–Just talk to her?’ Sabrina pleaded, swinging her book bag over her shoulder. ‘Because at this rate I’m going to ex-communicate myself just to escape the two of you. I’ll see you at home.’

Zelda watched as her niece disappeared through the trees, the sound of her footsteps mingling with a crow’s distant call until she was gone.

Zelda pivoted on her heel to face Mary. She was still standing on the porch, watching Zelda with an indecipherable expression. After a moment of charged silence, they both began to speak at once.

‘I should go–’

‘You better come in.’

Zelda looked at Mary in surprise. She expected to see spite, or even contempt on the other woman’s face, but Mary was still wearing that same inscrutable frown.

‘Oh.’ Zelda joined Mary at the front door, careful not to let her eyes linger too long on any part of the witch’s well-tailored ensemble. As Mary stepped aside the front door, Zelda was almost certain she shifted her coiled frame so that their arms briefly touched – a light whisper of skin on skin. That so little contact could still set Zelda’s whole body on fire only deepened her disappointment in herself; she was far too old to be reduced to a mess of hormones by the mere presence of another woman.

Mary stayed uncharacteristically silent, leading Zelda to the sitting room without a word. She directed Zelda to the couch, subsequently disappearing and returning with two glasses of wine.

Zelda accepted the Chablis and took a grateful sip. She sat perched on the edge of the couch, back ramrod straight, trying to sink into the deep mahoganies and reds of Mary’s decor. But her nerves refused to settle; for every second that passed, she felt more like a stranger in this house. It was as if the countless nights spent sleeping in the room upstairs added up to nothing at all.

Mary took a seat across from Zelda in one of her wingback chairs, relaxing into her glass of red. Zelda could feel her eyes on her, but she kept her attention trained on the dancing flames in the fireplace.

‘Your family is very invested in your happiness,’ Mary finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice lacked its usual haughty timber, instead detached and unfamiliar. It made Zelda sit a bit straighter.

‘Sabrina likes to meddle,’ she said in way of reply.

‘She’s doing well,’ Mary said. ‘Back to normal.’ She swirled the wine in her glass, the deep red of the liquid perfectly matching her lipstick. Zelda wondered if this was intentional, or if the many scarlet hues of Mary’s wardrobe had blended into one, creating a morbid harmony of sanguine. After a moment, Mary cleared her throat and put down her glass.

‘How are you?’ The question, innocuous enough, was delivered with the forced casualness of someone who already knows the answer.

‘I’m fine,’ Zelda snapped, the frigidity in her voice more to do with fatigue at having to answer the very question from her family so many times a day. Seeing Mary start to apologize, she shifted her tone in a conscious attempt at neutrality. ‘I’m... Tired,’ she said, lamely. ‘I can’t sleep.’

Mary nodded in understanding. ‘A scare like that. I wouldn’t expect you to sleep well.’

Zelda ducked her head and looked back to the fire. In truth, Mary made frequent appearances in her nightmares, sometimes standing over Sabrina’s stilled body, sometimes Zelda’s. Worst of all, the horror caused by Zelda’s confession at the opera house was the permanent expression of Mary’s dream persona, so that Zelda was reminded of the rejection every time she closed her eyes.

Rejection that Zelda had accepted with her characteristic stoicism, until now. Sabrina’s earlier words played through her mind, making her wonder just what was going on behind the heavily lined eyes of the woman before her.

‘Sabrina said you’ve been extra harsh to the students,’ Zelda said, tentatively. ‘That they think you and Principal Hawthorne split up.’

Now it was Mary’s turn to flinch. ‘Principal Hawthorne?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘These mortal children lack any imagination.’ Seeing Zelda’s incomprehension, she continued. ‘I’d turn to the False God before I dated Hawthorne. A vile, vile man.’

‘Good,’ Zelda said, before she could stop herself.

Mary raised an eyebrow, faintly amused. ‘Good?’

Zelda considered inventing an explanation for her relief. But no, she was too tired to enter into another game with Mary Wardwell, another maze of rationed affection and guarded hearts.

‘Good,’ Zelda repeated, with conviction. ‘You deserve better.’ She met Mary’s gaze, letting herself be studied, unlocked by those calculating blue pools.

Mary inclined her head slightly and shut her eyes, like she was deliberating on something vast and complex held only in her mind. When she opened them again, her face was set in new resolve.

‘I need to be honest with you.’ The earnestness in Mary’s voice made Zelda’s heart skip a beat; a premonition of what was to come.

‘I don’t know if honesty is in your wheelhouse,’ Zelda said lightly, setting down her wine glass. When she looked up, Mary was on the couch beside her, staring at her with a wired intensity. Zelda felt herself grow warm under her watch. It had been only a few weeks since she had last seen Mary, but still she was as stunned by her beauty as the first time they met, dazed by details she had never noticed before – like how her forehead crinkled perfectly when she was being very serious, as she was now. Zelda fidgeted in her seat, hoping her mind wasn’t so easily readable. ‘Well, spit it out,’ she said, Mary’s silence making her restless.

‘What happened to Sabrina isn’t your fault,’ Mary said. ‘I need to tell you how I know that. And I understand if it makes you hate me.’

Zelda had never seen Mary remotely concerned about, well, anything, so the genuine worry that sprang from her lips was more than disquieting. Zelda leaned forward, any pretense of nonchalance forgotten. Her mind raced with what knowledge Mary could possibly hold that she did not. ‘Mary, what is it?’

Mary opened her mouth to speak, and everything moved.

The room twisted and turned, and a great dizziness overtook Zelda, making her keel over. A burning flooded her chest, and she was certain she was going to be sick. Her vision danced with flashes of light and she heard the distant sound of something breaking, her hands turned cold. She had never felt so angry, so frightened, so alone – if only the room would stop spinning....

And then it stopped, over as quickly as it began, her panic evaporating like a bad dream. Zelda looked around wildly, but the room was the same as it had been a moment earlier. Mary was still seated on the couch, her face riddled with grief. Zelda realized she was standing, holding something sharp in her hand – a broken stem of a wine glass, its ragged edge glittering in the firelight.

‘What just–’ Zelda looked around, her mind cloudy. ‘–Did I drop the glass?’ She asked, noticing the wet carpet at her feet.

‘Yes,’ Mary said, her voice dry and quiet, like it was keeping a storm of emotion at bay. She wiped at her face, and Zelda wondered why she was so upset. ‘You felt ill and dropped your glass. But you feel better now.’

Zelda nodded. Of course, that wave of nausea, and dropping her wine. Her hands felt too big for her body, clumsy and inept, and she smoothed them on her dress, trying to regain some sense of control. Her heart was still beating a mile a minute, but she wasn’t sure why. Slowly, she sat back on the couch, placing the broken shard carefully on the table. She realized Mary was speaking again and tried focus on her words instead of the fuzziness lingering in her brain.

‘I was telling you about who I am,’ Mary said, her voice still low, ‘I’m half-mortal.’

Zelda stared. She had an odd sense of déjà vu and shook her head, trying to process this information. ‘Half-mortal? But you’re a witch.’

Mary recited her next words in a calculated monotone, like she had rehearsed them many times before. ‘My father made a deal with the Dark Lord when I was a child. I will always be half-mortal, but a witch, too. So I know how difficult this half life is. How difficult it will be for Sabrina.’

Zelda blinked, struggling to keep up with what Mary was telling her. ‘Sabrina?’

Mary nodded. ‘I want her to sign the Book, otherwise she’ll force herself into this life. That night of the accident, I didn’t think anything bad would happen. I just thought if she saw that she can’t always depend on her family’s magic–’

‘–the accident? What are you talking about? What did you do?’ Zelda jumped from the couch in visceral alarm, her voice suddenly shrill and panicked.

‘Nothing!’ Mary said, rising as well. ‘Nothing. I just heard Ambrose and Hilda were busy that night and I thought I’d... I thought if I could keep you away too, Sabrina might realize the limitations of her own power. So, you see, it’s not your fault.’

‘It’s yours,’ Zelda said, a new rage making her whole body tremble. Duped again, by the same woman. She really was a fool. ‘So you took me away from her and what, cursed her? To teach her your twisted little lesson?’

‘Of course not! I would never harm Sabrina,’ Mary said, beseeching. There was something in her protest that made Zelda step backwards, the heat from the fireplace licking her ankles as pieces from the broken wine glass crunched underfoot. Mary was still explaining, urgent and desperate, each word running into the next. ‘It wasn’t even a plan. I’ve never intervened in a student’s life like that before, but I saw the anguish her indecision caused you, your family–’

‘–You had no right to interfere.’ Zelda interrupted, voice seized with emotion. She resisted the rage-fueled tears caught in the back of her throat. ‘Yes, I want Sabrina to sign the Book, but I would never use this– these scare tactics.’

Mary nodded vigorously. ‘Of course. Of course you’re right. I’m so sorry, Zelda. I never meant to hurt you.’

Zelda wanted to laugh. _Never meant to hurt you_. The words reverberated in the empty room, joined only by the crackle of the fire. Mary had her hands clasped in front of her, imploring forgiveness, acceptance. Zelda could feel how this was killing her, this performance of desperation the very antithesis of who she thought herself to be. Zelda knew, because she was the same.

Suddenly Zelda felt exhausted, tired of being angry, tired of hurting for everybody but herself. She had never felt so beat-down, so defeated. ‘You knew how I felt about you– I think you’ve always known,’ she said, sadly. ‘And still you used me. Even when you knew that would hurt me.’

Mary shook her head, eyes shining. She stepped closer to Zelda, then reached out and gently tucked a loose ginger tress behind Zelda’s ear. Zelda shrunk at the contact, the warmth in Mary’s caress as burning as the flames behind her.

‘That’s the other thing,’ Mary said, softly. ‘What you said on the steps – it took me by surprise.‘

‘We don’t need to talk about it.’ Zelda said, certain she could not relive the humiliation of that night again. Not after all this.

But Mary continued. ‘No. I need to tell you, I’m not the sort who falls in love. I can’t. But, somehow...’ Mary took a deep breath, and met Zelda’s eyes with a fierce intensity. ‘I’ve fallen in love with you, too. I love you. My sweet, sweet Zelda.’

Zelda stared, utterly bewildered and far from convinced. ‘Why?’ She meant to ask why Mary would tell such a bold-faced lie, but her speech faltered after the first word, and she realized she didn’t know the answer to that, either.

‘Why?’ Mary raised an eyebrow and smiled, her eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. ‘Because. You’re maddeningly smart. And ridiculously sexy. And sharp, and proud – but also kind, and too caring for your own good. And even though you deserve so much better than me, I can’t believe I fucked it up. I ruined it, Zelda. And I can’t stop you from hating me.’

Zelda was stunned. She never expected to hear anything of the sort from Mary. In all honesty, she didn’t think the other woman had ever paused to consider another’s positive attributes, so wrapped up in her own. But her words felt good; a balm to her aching heart. A kind of healing.

After a weighty pause, Zelda cleared her throat, for it had constricted considerably during Mary’s speech. ‘I don’t hate you.’

Mary froze. ‘You don’t?’

‘No,’ Zelda sniffed. ‘I find you... Irksome. But I don’t hate you.’

The smile that spread across Mary’s face was infectious. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘You need to stay out of my family’s affairs,’ Zelda continued. ‘And swear to let Sabrina make her own bad choices. She doesn’t need any more encouragement.’

Mary nodded. ‘I promise.’

‘Good,’ Zelda said. A small smile crept onto her lips. ‘So... You love me.’

Mary rolled her eyes, but even that couldn’t diminish the joy in her grin. ‘Yeah, yeah. But don’t get a big head about it.’

Zelda grabbed Mary, pulling her close. Their lips met in a tender kiss, hardly touching, before building to one of deep passion, Mary’s ravenous mouth driving any doubts from Zelda’s mind.

As the kiss began to take the shape of something more, Zelda pulled away slightly, cupping Mary’s face in her hand.

‘You should know,’ Zelda said, catching her breath, ‘this doesn’t mean I forgive you.’

Mary smirked, her fingertips traveling dangerously high up Zelda’s thigh. ‘And how can I earn that great honor?’

Zelda raised her eyebrows and took Mary by the hand, leading her up the staircase to the bed they had shared many times before. This time, however, things were different. Because Mary Wardwell said she loved her. And Zelda had to believe that meant everything would be alright.

——

That night Zelda slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. As she slumbered, however, Mary lay awake, watching her partner’s back rise and fall in a hypnotic rhythm. A deep uneasiness had lodged itself in Mary’s chest; a seedling of doubt that had bloomed into nauseating worry as Mary replayed the eventful afternoon in her head. The ample lies, the painful truths, all woven into one cinderblock prison for which she did not have the key. And Zelda, somehow, at the center of it all.

Mary didn’t know what she’d started that night, but she worried she knew how it ended. And for that, Zelda would never forgive her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!! Merry Christmas!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary goes to lunch with the Spellmans.

Mary liked holding Zelda’s hand. It surprised her, the way her fingers perfectly fit in the crook of Zelda’s palm; the hills of one hand meeting the valleys of the other until they melded into a single unit. Strange, how right it felt; Mary had never experienced the urge to maintain extended physical contact before, unless as a means to an entirely pleasurable end. But the sensation of Zelda’s hand in hers was proving nearly as satisfying. The occasional squeeze of her palm was a conversation in itself – one that made her heart jump in her chest, and prompted a ridiculous, embarrassing grin across her face.

Mary had taken to clearing her throat when this happened, hoping to mask her visceral reaction to Zelda’s touch. She thought this decoy successful until Zelda instructed her to take a cough drop or just accept the fact that, for once, she was happy. So Mary did, gladly taking Zelda’s hand as they strolled through the woods, not caring how obvious it was that she had been suckered by love. 

When Mary had first professed her feelings for Zelda weeks ago, those three little words had unlocked something within; a long-dormant emotion felt both deep and atavistic. Only then did it dawn on her that these foreign invaders of joy, comfort, and trust added up to a ethereal quality this world had named long ago: love. And though she knew Zelda’s reciprocity rested on a foundation of sand, Mary was quick to banish her worries to the corners of her mind. There they sat neglected, gathering dust, but far from forgotten.

On a particularly brisk day, a different variety of nerves plagued Mary. She was finding it hard to concentrate on what Zelda was saying – something about her nephew’s forgiven house arrest and an incident in Rome. Mary only realized Zelda had trailed off when she was yanked back to a sudden stop, Zelda having paused in her stride.

‘You should pay attention,’ Zelda said, unhooking her hand from Mary’s. ‘I’m trying to help you make a good impression.’ She crossed one arm across her chest to cradle the opposite elbow, a sure harbinger of a stern lecture.

‘I’m listening,’ Mary said, interjecting before Zelda could continue. ‘I’ve just remembered – I think I left the stove on.’

Zelda raised her eyebrow. ‘That would be impressive, considering your stove hasn’t been used since the first Witch Trials.’

Mary pursed her lips in thought and nodded. ‘You’re right. I should cook more. Starting now. Come on, let’s go back and I’ll make you something.’

Mary swiveled on the spot, but Zelda reached out and grabbed her arm, preventing her escape. ‘We’re going to lunch, Mary. You can’t get out of this one.’

‘I forgot to mention, I’m horribly allergic to themed restaurants. If we go I’ll drop dead on the spot.’ 

But Zelda still refused to release Mary from her grasp, and spoke in measured tones one might use when arguing with a tantrum-prone toddler. ‘We don’t have time for this. Now, you have no reason to be nervous. I’ll be there the whole time.’

Mary scoffed. ‘Nervous. Please.’ She turned to face Zelda, shoulders slumped. ‘All I’m worried about is food poisoning.’

Zelda tilted her head in a deep frown, as skeptical as if Mary had just announced a conversion to veganism. ‘Mary.’

‘Fine,’ Mary snapped. She folded her arms over her chest and tapped her fingers against her elbow, cross and annoyed and wanting to delay this lunch as long as possible. ‘Your family hates me.’ It came out whinier than she intended, so she adjusted her tone. ‘And I don’t consort with my enemies.’

Zelda’s no-nonsense posture did not slacken, her eyebrow, if possible, rising even higher into her hairline. ‘Even if that were true, I don’t think my family of misfits technically count as your enemies.’

‘After the last time–’

‘–That was my fault,’ Zelda interrupted. ‘I should have warned them. And a formal dinner, without Sabrina – I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘Your sister has made her views quite clear.’

Zelda looked momentarily surprised. ‘Hilda? What did she say to you?’

Mary remembered herself and waved away Zelda’s concern. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I could just tell by the way she looked at me.’

Zelda shook her head and chuckled. ‘You could see animosity in a toadstool. Don’t think anything of it. They’re just not used to guests.’

Mary felt this was an understatement. The incident at the Spellmans’ had been mired with disaster from the moment Mary lifted the knocker of the heavy wooden door. 

Mary had arrived that fateful evening with a bottle of wine and the naive idea that Hilda would have changed, or at the very least relaxed, her opinion on Mary since their last encounter. Considering their previous conversation had ended in a threat that Mary was tempting with her very presence at the Spellman home, she was relieved when the nephew, Ambrose, had answered the door.

That relief quickly dissipated when it became clear that Zelda had not informed anyone of their expected houseguest. Ambrose had assumed she was there about a body, leading to a painful exchange, the numerous misunderstandings fit for a Vaudeville comedy routine. Eventually Mary had been forced to interrupt Ambrose to explain that actually, she had been invited for dinner by Zelda Spellman herself, an request that made perfect sense considering the two were lovers.

It was also unfortunate that Hilda Spellman chose that moment to enter the foyer. The resulting facial expressions of both sister and nephew made Mary question if she had just declared herself a necrophiliac, here for a quick jaunt to the morgue. But no, it seemed their astonishment-cum-horror was a response to the apparent reveal that the two were together.

Zelda had appeared soon after, and Hilda and Ambrose quickly made themselves scarce with the excuse of a ‘work emergency.’ Mary wouldn’t have believed this lazy falsehood even if she hadn’t noticed the four table settings and abundance of hog roast that Zelda solemnly carved a few minutes later. Sabrina was out with her friends, so Mary and Zelda had shared the meal in stunted silence, Mary keenly aware of every syllable echoing throughout the big house.

‘I have no desire to repeat that evening,’ Mary said, the memory fresh her mind. ‘Even if, as you say, they’re forewarned. As if people need to be warned of me.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Zelda wrapped her arms around Mary’s waist, a small smile playing at her lips. ‘This time will be much more bearable, I promise. Just don’t use the word lover. It makes people uncomfortable.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want that,’ Mary smirked. She squeezed Zelda’s lower back, bringing the witch closer. ‘What do I call you, then? My romantic entanglement? My distractingly beautiful sexual partner?’

Zelda wrinkled her nose. ‘While those are catchy, and not at all traumatizing for my sixteen-year-old niece to hear, a more efficient option might be girlfriend.’

‘Girlfriend,’ Mary said, trying it out. ‘And you think this “girlfriend” word will make your family like me?’

‘It might,’ Zelda said. ‘If you’re not too villainous.’

‘Really, Zelda, I don’t know where you get these ideas,’ Mary said, flaunting a devilish smile. She leaned in for a kiss, savoring every brush of her lips against Zelda’s, tender and slow. 

Luckily, Mary was fairly gifted at the art of distraction, and for a moment she dared hope they might reschedule the lunch after all. But after a few minutes Zelda pulled away.

‘That won’t work either,’ Zelda said, slightly breathless. Her face was flushed a few shades brighter than the red leaves on the ground, and an exaggerated frown was failing to hide the smile below. ‘Now come on. We’re going.’

And before Mary could invent another excuse, Zelda took her hand and led her out of the forest, away from the trees, and into the heart of Greendale.

——

When Mary and Zelda arrived at the diner, the rest of the Spellmans were already settled in a booth, all huddled on one side and engrossed in deep conversation. Mary automatically began to withdraw her hand from Zelda’s as they entered, but Zelda was quick to stop her. She clasped Mary’s palm with a tight squeeze and marched them towards the booth.

Hilda, Ambrose, and Sabrina all looked up at once, startled out of their hushed discussion by the looming shadow of the two women newly arrived at their table. A moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Sabrina jumped up, wrapping them both in an tight hug.

‘You made it!’ She said, leaping back to her seat next to Hilda. ‘We’re so glad you’re here, Miss Wardwell.’

Mary took off her coat and scooted in to the opposite side of the table after Zelda. Clearly, whatever mortal invented booth seating had a vendetta against well-tailored dresses.

‘I’m happy to be here too, Sabrina,’ Mary said, pulling her skirt back down to a reasonable length. ‘And this shop certainly is... Charming.’

‘Did you get lost?’ Hilda’s question was coarse and delivered with a pointed glare at Mary. ‘You’re late.’

‘Have we kept you from very important work, sister?’ Zelda fired back without pause. ‘Making cappuccinos for mortals, perhaps?’

Hilda went pink and picked up her menu, holding it at an angle to obscure half her face. ‘Better them than her,’ she muttered, at just the right decibel for Mary to hear.

Ambrose, half-sitting, half-lying in the corner of the booth, was watching Mary with a lazy grin that made her feel like a rather entertaining circus act. She shot him a icy look, hoping to end his gawking and convey that she could devour him like a basket of onion rings, if she so chose.

But this seemed to only exacerbate Ambrose’s amusement. He burrowed even further back into the booth, somehow, and continued to smile. ‘You must excuse my aunt Hilda,’ he said, resting his hands behind his head. ‘She just couldn’t wait another second to meet Zelda’s _lover_.’ He pronounced the last word with an intonation nothing short of salacious. 

Hilda, who had chosen that moment to take a sip of water, began sputtering and coughing, and reached for the stack of paper napkins.

Sabrina groaned. ‘Don’t be gross, Ambrose. Ignore him,’ she said, this directed at Mary. ‘Have you been here before? The food’s really good.’

Sabrina continued, pointing Mary through her favorite items on the menu, most of which involve copious amounts of sugar. Mary eventually landed on a milkshake in the sickening flavor of “Vampire Vanilla,” which, after some cajoling, Zelda reluctantly agreed to share.

To Mary’s surprise, the afternoon continued in a not altogether terrible fashion, the bulk of the conversation carried by Zelda and her exuberant niece. For once, Mary was grateful for the teenager’s relentless energy. Ambrose occasionally interjected a well-time retort or questionable double entendre, all delivered with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk. Still, Mary had to admit that of all men she had had the misfortune to encounter in this realm, Ambrose was far from the worst. She even sniggered in spite of herself at once of his jokes, earning a squeeze on the knee from Zelda.

Only Hilda stayed silent, hiding behind her soda glass and tutting whenever Mary spoke, any loaded barb made impotent by Zelda’s ever-present glare. Halfway through their fries and hamburgers, Ambrose turned to Mary.

‘So, you’re another ex-communicate, I hear?’ He waved a half-eaten fry in the air like a floppy question mark. ‘What got you kicked out?’

Zelda, who had been resting her arm behind Mary, sat up straight. ‘Don’t be rude, Ambrose.’

Ambrose shrugged. ‘Sorry. I just thought, being as our family has had its share of indiscretions...’ He gestured lazily at Hilda.

Hilda chuckled. ‘Really, Ambrose, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison.’

‘And why not?’ Zelda asked, her venom immediately returned. ‘Mary is far more devout than you, sister, I can assure you of that.’ She drummed her fingernails on the table, a kind of aural punctuation.

Mary, fearing the conversation was bumping up against some of her own tales of subjective truth, rested her hand over Zelda’s. ‘It can be a delicate isue. Sometimes the Church fails to understand our actions, even if they are well-intentioned.’

‘The Church can certainly fail to do that,’ Hilda said, a tin smile plastered across her face. ‘The Church might wonder if those actions only benefit the ex-communicate, while hurting the other – the Church. As a whole.’ 

Mary stirred her milkshake with her straw and studied Hilda, one eyebrow raised. She said nothing, daring the other woman to continue.

But Sabrina cut in first, uncomprehending. ‘What are you talking about, Auntie?’

Hilda huffed. ‘I’m just saying, I might understand ex-communicating a witch who is only after her own self interest. I think that sort of witch has no place here.’ 

Zelda faced her sister with a thin-lipped scowl. ‘That’s quite enough, Hilda.’

Hilda retreated into herself at those words, any trace of boldness vanished. It was as if she became smaller, a turtle cowering in its shell. She fiddled with her empty soda glass for a moment and then, eyes still trained on the floor, excused herself for the bathroom.

Ambrose and Sabrina exchanged a weighty glance.

Zelda tapped her fingers on the table, glaring after her sister. ‘I’m going to talk to her,’ she said, making to slide out of the seat.

Mary stopped her. ‘I’ll go.’

Zelda frowned. ‘What good would that do?’

‘Just trust me,’ she said, sliding out up from the booth before Zelda could protest further.

Mary rounded the corner for the bathroom. Inside she found Hilda at the sink, washing her hands. At Mary’s entrance she startled, splashing water over the lip of the counter and onto her shirt.

‘Oh, blast it,’ she muttered, reaching for paper towels.

‘Quite a performance out there,’ Mary said, leaning against the bathroom door. ‘It’s almost as if you have something you want to say to me.’

Hilda’s attention remained on dabbing and cursing her wet shirt. She gave a sidelong glance to Mary, not quite meeting her eyes. ‘I’ve already said all I have to say to you. And you ignored it.’

Mary gave a deep sigh. ‘I realize we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye–’

Hilda snorted.

‘— But I care very deeply for your sister. More than you’ll ever know.’ Mary decided to deliver her lines as a swelling proclamation, her eyes glassy with the depth of her feeling. If the moment were to be scored, she imagined it would require no less than a full symphony orchestra.

Hilda, giving up on the stain, threw the paper towel into the trash with a wet smack and stood to face Mary. She gestured vaguely at the other woman’s person. ‘ _This_ is why I don’t like you.’

Mary stared at her, confused. ‘My face?’

‘All of it,’ Hilda said, suddenly jutting out her hip and raising one eyebrow in a comically arch expression.

After a moment, Mary laughed incredulously. ‘Is that supposed to me?’

Hilda resumed her usual stature with a harrumph. ‘Nothing about you is real. All spectacle, no substance.’

Mary crossed her arms haughtily over her chest. ‘That’s nothing to do with Zelda.’

‘I’ve seen it before,’ Hilda said. ‘Witches like you. You get bored, and you go. Leaving Zelda heartbroken and miserable. Again.’ Hilda emphasized the last word, a spark of her previous insolence returned.

‘I’m not going to leave Zelda.’

Hilda laughed bitterly. ‘And I’m the bloody high priest.’

Mary scowled, her frustration with this stubborn woman worsening with every second that passed. At least with Zelda she knew how to thaw an icy mood – but she didn’t think that tactic would be as successful with her sister.

‘What do you want me to say, Hilda?’ Mary asked, all affectations wiped from her voice. ‘I love her.’

Hilda studied Mary’s face, searching for proof. Whether she found it Mary did not know. ‘Swear to Satan you’ll not break her heart.’

Mary met Hilda’s eyes with equal intensity, battling the instinct to look away. ‘I swear,’ she said, quietly.

A moment more of scrutiny, and then Hilda threw up her hands in defeat. ‘Fine. Fine, I give up. Or believe you. I can’t tell the difference anymore.’ She pointed an accusatory finger in Mary’s face. ‘But if you hurt her–’

‘–You have full permission to kill me and feast on my flesh.’

‘Alright,’ Hilda said, a little taken aback. ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that.’

The corner of Mary’s mouth twitched. She opened the bathroom door and stood to the side, nodding at Hilda to lead the way. She did so, and the two returned to the table in not-quite-hostile silence.

Sabrina greeted their return with a raised quizzical eyebrow. ‘All good, guys?’

‘Excellent,’ Mary said, returning to her seat. ‘Hilda and I have decided to play bridge together every Tuesday.’

Zelda‘s eyes widened almost as much as Hilda’s, who looked absolutely horrified. ‘Really?’

‘No,’ Mary said. ‘But we did agree that we need more fries.’ 

As the table returned to its usual chatter, this time Hilda joining in with a few stories of her own, Mary wrapped her arm around Zelda’s shoulder and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. ’I love you,’ she said, low enough so the others wouldn’t hear.

Zelda smiled, her eyes crinkling with a tenderness that made Mary’s chest flutter. ‘I love you too, weirdo.’ Zelda said, squeezing Mary’s knee under the table.

Mary tapped Zelda lightly on the nose. ‘I believe it’s pronounced girlfriend.’

Zelda rolled her eyes and laughed. ’Touché, my dear.’

Mary kept sneaking glances at Zelda for the rest of the afternoon, her earlier anxieties washed away by the sublime effect of the other woman nestled in her arm. The sun began to set outside, its dusky pink hues cradling every one of Zelda’s features in an enchanting glow. Mary wished she could still time so she could savor the moment; she had never seen Zelda look so beautiful, so at home.

Soon, the light faded from the windows. As night took its place, a winter chill permeated through the diner, making the other patrons reach for their coats. But Mary didn’t move, didn’t even shiver. The woman next to her was warmth enough.

——

An hour later, the group gathered their things, remarking on the now pitch-black sky waiting outside. Mary was relieved that the meal had come to an end, hopeful for a quiet evening in Zelda’s solitary company.

A sudden gust of cold wind blew through the diner, sending the menus and napkins on the table scattering. The Spellmans fussed over the mess, but Mary’s attention was drawn outside. A shadowed figure was lurking in the doorway just out of sight, his figure framed by a nearby street lamp. Though Mary could not see his face, she knew immediately whom the silhouette belonged to. 

A familiar dread trickled over her skin, turning her breath cold. Mary received the shadow’s glare, and in it what he wanted – men, even warlocks, were always so easy to read. The finure turned his head ever so slightly to meet Mary’s gaze. A beat of understanding, and he disappeared with a quick tap of his walking stick.

‘Miss Wardwell, do you feel alright?’ The menus now cleared, Sabrina was eyeing Mary with concern. She followed her teacher’s gaze to beyond the shop entrance, now deserted save for a flickering lamp post.

‘I’m fine,’ Mary said, though she couldn’t stop her involuntary shudder.

Zelda looped her arm around Mary’s and leaned in for inspection. ‘You do look pale,’ she said, her furrowed brow a carbon copy of Sabrina’s. 

‘Actually, I think some of the food may not have agreed with me,’ Mary said, clutching her midsection with as much humility as she found palatable.

Zelda glared sharply at Hilda, who just shrugged. ‘I didn’t make it.’

Outside Mary apologetically made her leave, forcefully declining Zelda’s offer to accompany her home. Sabrina gave Mary another hug, and Ambrose and Hilda waved their goodbyes, one more enthusiastic than the other. Zelda, still anxious, gave her a kiss and promised to call later with a list of medicinal herbs. Finally, they left.

Once the Spellmans had vanished from view, Mary turned in the opposite direction of the diner, and then to the left. She continued along her winding path until she reached a dead-end passageway, not quite wide enough to be classified as a street nor small enough to be an ally. A rusting inverted cross stood planted in the center, held aloft a few feet in the air by a stone pedestal. Mary danced her fingers over its peak, the temperature radiating from the metal both cold and hot. 

‘I don’t have all day, Blackwood.’

Faustus appeared silently, emerging like a specter in the night. 

‘My dear demoness.’ The condescension in Faustus’s greeting made Mary want to consume him on the spot. But she just smiled, fluttering her fingertips ever-closer to the inverted cross before her.

‘Be careful with that,’ Faustus said, watching Mary’s hand. ‘A marker of the false god. A martyr.’

But Mary kept her hand close to the metal, enjoying Faustus’s ill-concealed irritation at her defiance. ‘So they say. And yet, the coven has also staked a claim. An offering to the Dark Lord. Its true allegiance remains a mystery.’

‘And you plan to answer this question tonight?’ Faustus asked, his eyes still following Mary’s fingertips as they nearly brushed the metal. ‘Wrong, and you’ll burn.’

Mary relished his unease a moment longer, floating so close she felt the curious power of the object tickle her palm. Then she pulled away.

‘Not tonight,’ she said. ‘But I suppose you called me here to discuss Sabrina.’

Faustus didn’t answer at first, crossing his hands over his cane like he was preparing a sermon. When he spoke, his words were clipped. ‘Not Sabrina. Zelda.’

Mary raised an eyebrow. So that’s why he was lurking around the diner – spying on a former lover. ‘What is there to discuss?’

Faustus cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. He kept his gaze on the cross, avoiding Mary. ‘I did not realize you two were so close.’

Mary studied him, measuring what he knew with a raised eyebrow. ‘We are enjoying a private affair, yes. Not that it’s any of your business.’

Faustus’s eyes flashed to Mary’s, as if surprised at her candor. ‘I disagree.’

‘Why? Because she chose me over you?’

Faustus paused, any hint of discomfort now masked by a smile that made Mary’s skin crawl. ‘So eager to reveal your weakness. To care whom or what she chose – though I assume you have not told her of your true nature?’ At Mary’s silence, Faustus laughed, a horrible, chalky sound. ‘Of course. She wouldn’t willingly play housewife to a demon.’

Mary smiled, her eyes sharp. ‘She certainly seems to derive more pleasure playing with me than she ever did with you.’

Faustus closed his mouth in a tight line, all mirth vanished. ‘You’ve strayed from your purpose here.’

‘You don’t know what I have planned. I’ll get Sabrina to sign the Book; I will succeed where you failed.’

Faustus ignored her gibe. ‘And yet your engineered influences have all but ceased,’ he said. ‘You’re emotionally entangled with Sabrina’s family. Distracted. Weakened by a weaker woman.’

‘Zelda is not weak,’ Mary snapped. At Faustus’s look of satisfaction, she cursed herself for falling for his trap, quickly regaining composure. ‘Nor am I. I will do what the Dark Lord has demanded.’

‘And if Zelda gets in the way?’

Mary glared. ‘She won’t.’

Faustus met her scowl with his own, two competitors in a rigged game of chess. If only they knew what they were playing for.

‘I’ll leave the Spellmans in your capable hands,’ Faustus said coolly. ‘Just remember, you cannot lay claim to Zelda Spellman. This isn’t your realm. And your time here is finite.’

And he was gone.

Mary glowered at the empty space Faustus left behind. His words hung in the air, taunting her. Insolent man. Suddenly not wanting to be anywhere but home, Mary magicked herself to her front door and strutted inside, heading for the bathroom.

Mary faced herself in the mirror, daring her reflection to blink. The glass could have held a painted portrait, rendered from long-dried brush strokes; the woman there was still, even as her insides trembled. A whisper of a thought hovered like a dying breath next to her ear; the inhale holding more and more every time Zelda laughed, or reached for her hand, or stroked her cheek – and now, fit to burst, it exhaled with troubling clarity: _your duality cannot exist._

Mary clutched the edge of the counter, a sudden dizziness overwhelming her balance. She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face, trying to rinse the words from her mind. But they remained, a weighty anchor on every heartbeat.

She shut her eyes and turned off the sink. The worries she had banished to the outskirts of her consciousness now invaded her every thought, tainting the memory of the day with deep-seeded doubt. She had let herself become weak, as pathetic as one of the mewling mortals. She felt ashamed. And the Mother Of Demons did not feel shame.

Mary opened her eyes and blinked at her reflection, a decision made. She knew what she had to do.

It was time to make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with it and for your lovely comments!!! We’re nearing the end here, I hope it all works out...


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